#ONE BAD DAY AWAY FROM BEING ME. ❱❱ ( castle. )

[obsessedwithceleste]

Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

#harry potter universe #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #ravenclaw #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #draco malfoy #matteo riddle #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott x reader #how do you write in 2nd person #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n

[yanderemommabean]

Silly Royal Yandere Idea-

Imagine being a worker for a royal family, you're a farmer who brings the goods to the kitchen every day and make sure all vegetables and fruits are fresh, not bruised, cleaned and ready to be prepared for their meals.

You usually make the trek alone, no big deal right? Just some heavy baskets and such but the job itself isn't really that bad. It's made even better actually when the young prince finds he fancies the way you work and how you farm, loves to walk with you on your way out of the kingdom and listen to you and your stories.

He's cute, you'll give him that. Curious and finally able to explore without much of an issue now that he's finished his training, his father boasting proudly today even that they shall share a feast in celebration.

The walks are nice, you aren't alone and are even safer as the highwaymen shrink away and know to stay back when they see such fierce eyes. Those calloused hands from fighting and training lay on your hips, pulling you closer to his side as you share yet another walk to your farm and get the baskets ready for another delivery.

These sweet meetings grow in size as time goes on. He's been given permission by the king and queen to bring you to the main rooms of the castle, though they aren't too happy that he disregards their rules about what you can and can't touch.

He's so puppy-like, grabbing your hand and pulling you everywhere he can, showing his favorite art, his instruments he's been playing while he waits for you to return, the things he requested be made to remind him of you, and some other odd but - at the time- well meaning items.

The prince however gets more and more demanding of your presence. So much so, that one morning you wake up to begin to water the crops and fetch some in your buckets but you opened the door to the man standing there, royal suit and all, a wide smile on his face as he greets you.

You insist you'll be at the castle soon, that you have work to be done, but he just pushes you forward as he walks with you, -not harsh, but definitely firm, making sure you couldn't turn away from him as he leads you.

"Just one day can't hurt right?" he says, "I just wish to spend the day with you, only you. It's why I took my own horse! He loves your carrots, you know? Only yours...He's very much like me in that regard". 

You decide that, on one hand, denying the prince anything could be dire, the royal family having all say in what is done and you're lucky they have been so benevolent. Risking your business because you didn't want to indulge the odd prince...It isn't worth the reward of just keeping up with the crops and farm work. 

But this one day out by the river and having the man buy you whatever you laid your eyes on, while sweet and very enjoyable, wasn’t enough. He shows up every morning now, you hear how exhausted his parents are when you reach the castle every time, they demand he act right, that he stop leaving without notifying any of the guards, but he just laughs it off and says “Why should they embark with me on my and my lovers adventures? Private matters are private father, remember?” 

They know what's going on but it's so much darker and more twisted than anyone could have imagined. Boundaries get pushed more and more, you keep trying to keep your farm alive for not just the royal family, but yourself and the others who need you too, but the prince insists that your time is to be spent with him, only him. 

It reaches its boiling point when you deny him a walk. No runs to the river, no waltz in the woods, not even a chat over tea. Your farm is sick, it needs tending, and you yourself are weary and exhausted from trying to balance it all out. 

He goes silent, hands clenching at his side for a moment before he just smiles, wide and friendly as usual, and he kisses your hand before apologizing. You assure him you aren’t exactly mad, you just have things to finish, and he at least seems to understand that. 

Or, so you thought. You crack open your eyes after waking up in a bed that wasn’t yours, hearing the horses outside neigh and chuff in terror as if something was very very wrong. You recognize the royal emblem on the wall, and you shoot straight up, knowing this was a carriage. You shove and knock on the doors, the smell of smoke filling your senses as you can only imagine the worst, but the heavy wood doesn’t budge and you can only make out garbled words as a man screams demands. 

You manage to break open the boarded window of the carriage and watch as your farm is engulfed in flames, horses neighing in terror, ashes falling all around, your cabin falling in on itself from the blaze. And you gaze upon what you can only assume is the incarnation of death and war itself, a sign of the end times, as the Prince rides up on his own horse and tosses a lantern, the blaze only erupting hotter as he cackles in triumph. 

You feel horrified tears well up in your eyes, so many emotions coming together at once. Everything you worked for, everything you had built from the ground up, all your memories and all of your belongings- gone. 

Ash and embers fill the sky as the knights who came begin marching back to the carriage, staffs in hand as they finally open the doors. You lunge, wanting to tear your teeth into the heart of that evil, sick, twisted man, but he just laughs. It’s a soft amused laugh like when you told him your stories in the market or on your many many walks. 

“Ah, I hadn’t expected that mixture to wear off so soon!” he boasts, stepping down from his own horse. His stride is slow, like he’s taking in the view of a beautiful field or admiring someones art. You want to spit at him, claw at him, break him in any way you could fathom. 

His feet stop, the crumbling building behind him still a blazing orange and red, opposite of the cold features the prince wore on his face. His hand comes to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking across where tears are falling down your heated cheek. “Why so upset? I took care of what was keeping you away from me! I know, I know, you’re sad, but I made sure nothing of importance was hurt! Which wasn’t much. A picture or two should still be safe-” he says with an expression of after thought. “ Anyway, dearest, I fixed the issue! And you can now come where you’re meant to be! “ “I’ll kill you-” “Ah, even when murderous and livid you strike my heart with your beauty. Do tell me every wicked way you wish to end me! It thrills me, makes my skin crawl so pleasantly imagining you touching me in any manner” he taunts, squeezing your face a bit tighter. “Be it anger and resentment or true love, I’ll relish any touch you bring to me” “My lord, the sun will rise soon” a deep voice says from the side, your own eyes too stunned to look, uncaring as everything else sets in. Your home is gone, your fields are ruined, your possessions all roasted and incinerated. Nothing left but the haunting image of burned rubble and some charred remains of any item you owned. 

You’re trapped. Imprisoned in a golden cage as this wild man declares that he and you are meant to be, whether you want it or not. 

“Get some rest darling. I’ll lead us back to the castle” He says with a kiss to your forehead, allowing the knights to force you back inside. “Don’t be so angered! I promise to treat you like royalty! Since you will be, once the marriage is announced and all”

(Hope you liked this! Feel free to comment and tell me your thoughts! Especially spicy ones :3c -Mommabean)

#yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #mommabean #yandere prince #yandere royalty #yandere male #yandere prompts #sorry for typos #ok to interact #ok to reblog #ok to say stuff #ok to comment

[merakiui]

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

[lynnielovestlou]

bodyguard! abby anderson x princess! reader (500 followers special)

꩜ synopsis: based on the book "twisted games" by ana huang. you are next in line for the throne, and abby is your bodyguard. only one problem: you can't be with her. you have to marry someone of royal blood, and abby is not. but that won't stop you from being with her. she knows she can't have you, but she's taking you anyways.

꩜ cw: forbidden love trope , reader and abby sneak around , eventual smut (fingering, strap use, multiple orgasms, pet names, spanking, dirty talk, etc) , reader has a brother , afab! reader , fem! reader , bodyguard! abby , semi-public ,

masterlist

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it all started when your brother abdicated. he quite possibly ruined your life the day he fell in love with a flight attendant and decided he didn't want to be king anymore. but you couldn't blame him. he chose love over the throne.

in reality, you could've done the same. not a single part of your body wanted to be queen. too much responsibility and stress, and not enough time to prepare. but everything you do reflects your country, and it would look bad to back out when your brother had done the same.

your grandfather was king, but as he grew older he had to teach your brother, next in line for the throne, how to rule an entire country. he had been preparing to do so for years, but when he met mckenna, he decided he didn't want to. so now, you were next to be queen. and you only had four months to prepare.

you had a dance to attend tonight, because the board decide it would be best for you to marry before coronation. so there you were, sitting on an uncomfortable throne in a room full of men that wish to be your suitor.

"are you paying attention?" a voice to your right says.

another thing. abby fucking anderson. your buff, exponentially attractive bodyguard. you two had a fling before there was this whole drama with your brother, but it soon fizzled out at the reality of the situation. you wanted her, and she wanted you. but the only problem: you can't be with her. she's not of noble blood, so by law, you can't be together.

"i dont need to be. i don't want to marry anyone here." which is almost a lie. you don't want to marry any man here.

abby sighs through her nostrils, her broad shoulders twitching, "c'mon, princess. there's got to be at least one person here that you think is good enough to be your husband."

there wasn't. even abby knew that.

"no thank you." you say with a huff, standing up and straightening out your dress just as another suitor had approached you.

you walk away without another word, abby short on your tail, "where are you going?"

"bathroom." you answer shortly, "i'm fed up with everything and this dress is making it extremely hard not to pee myself."

you excuse yourself for the second time, walking through the marble corridors of the castle while the faint sound of chatter is left in the ballroom. the only sound heard now is the clacking of your heels on the slick floors, the shoes rubbing your feet in the most uncomfortable places.

once in the bathroom you reach behind your back, fumbling with the strings of your corset.

"need some help?" abby questions. you hadn't realized that she followed you.

"i know you're my bodyguard, ms. anderson, but you don't need to follow me in the bathroom."

she chuckles lowly, "we've fucked three times and you still refuse to call me abby, huh?"

a familiar heat rushes to your cheeks.

and somewhere else.

she doesn't wait for an answer before positioning herself behind you, untying the strings for you and giving you immediate relief on your ribs.

"you know how much i hate that i have to watch you dance with other men? how much i hate that their hands are all over you...?"

you swallow, hard, "how much?"

"so much," she begins, "that i want to bend you over that sink and spank your ass raw."

your breath catches in your throat, and you stare at her in the mirror, mouth agape. your heart is hammering against your chest, like it's trying to head-butt itself out.

"take off your dress and spread your legs." she whispers in your ear, to which you comply. you'd be an idiot not to.

once you were stripped of your clothing, the cold air hits your skin and makes you shiver. but the cold doesn't last long before abby is taking you into a sloppy kiss.

"here's what's gonna happen." she says, hands snaking around your body and settling on the plush of your ass, "i don't like seeing you dance with men. so you're going to sit here and let me fuck you like a good girl, alright?"

her fingers slide through your slit. your breath catches for a second time and your body arches towards hers.

you shudder at every word, rutting yourself against her in an attempt to feel friction. she's quick to grab your hips and stop them, pulling a whine from deep within your chest.

"how many men did you dance with?" she demands, her hot breathe hovering on your lips.

"o-only six."

"seven." she corrects you, pinching and pulling on your clit, making you squirm.

"p-please, abby..."

"please what? use your words, princess." she says softly, contradicting her harsh actions.

"please... fuck me already." you plead, bottom lip quivering. your thigh muscles are shaking, and you glance at the pile of discarded clothes on the floor opposite of the counter you're pressed against. your clothes, to be exact. abby is still dressed, but you can see her bulge through her pants. the pants that squeeze her thighs and highlight every muscle. she truly is glorious.

"you wore your strap to the ball?"

she nods her head, taking her hand off your mound and using it to unzip her trousers. you whine at the lack of warmth, the cold air of the bathroom returning to your skin and giving you goosebumps.

"dont worry, sweet girl. once i'm done with you, you'll be sweating." you smirk at this, lifting yourself onto the cold tile counter. you hiss as the temperature hits your bare ass, but abby shuts you up with another kiss, "now stay still. i need to stretch you out before giving you what you really need." she says.

"but i've taken your strap before. it's not that hard."

she laughs at this, "i know you have. but this one's not the same."

your eyebrows raise, but before you can ask what she means her pants and boxers pool around her ankles. this certainly wasn't what you were expecting.

it's much longer and much girthier than than the one she's used on you before. it's even a different color. this one a hot pink, sparkly shade that's enough to force a laugh out of you.

abby giggles in unison, "you like it?" you nod, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her towards you. she's quick to shut that down, "nuh-uh. i told you i've gotta stretch you out first. spread those pretty legs f'me."

you comply easily, spreading them further. she whistles when she sees your twitching, glistening cunt, just weeping and begging for abby to take care of it.

"shit, honey... you think this country knows how wet their queen is right now?"

"but, im not the queen yet— oh!" youre interrupted when abby's middle and ring fingers slide easily into your cunt, your warm walls welcoming her familiar skin. you look down and watch your pussy swallow her up greedily, clenching around her like you're scared she's going to pull away.

"there she is. there's my girl." abby coos, kissing your knee before increasing the speed in which her fingers pump in and out of you.

all that's heard is the sloshing of her fingers in your pussy. the heel of her palm slams against your clit, deliciously stimulating it as your legs begin to shake. abby knows what she's doing, and she loves it.

"gonna look so damn pretty with a crown on your head." she huffs as that familiar coil bubbles up in the depths of your stomach, "s' pretty baby."

a string of moans cascade from your mouth as she pulls her fingers out, letting you have your orgasm on your own. usually she's fuck you through it, but she's not done with you yet.

she grabs the base of the strap, teasing your puffy and swollen folds with it but not putting it in. you whine in protest, but she tuts you in response.

when she finally does push in, however, a strained gasp falls out of your mouth from the stretch of the strap, your hands finding abby's shoulders and squeezing them, "abby— abs— i can't-"

"shh... yes you can. you can take it." she says, letting you adjust before slowly pumping in and out of you, "you can handle being queen but you can't handle this cock?"

"not-" grunt, "queen," grunt, "yet."

she pounds harder and harder, hips slamming against you. your legs are already weak, and you can tell you're going to be bruised tomorrow.

"abby," you say in between breaths, attempting to maintain your composure, "they're going to be wondering where i am."

her hips stutter, but they don't stop. the base of the strap was hitting her clit just right. she was just as close as you are, "shh... almost done. cum with me, baby. c'mon, you can do it."

with only a few more pounds you're both spiraling. you both hope to god nobody is outside the bathroom door, otherwise they would be sure to hear your heavy breathing and tight moans.

once you come down from your high, abby is already tucking her strap back into her tight slacks, the material hugging her thighs beautifully. she helps you dress yourself again in your pretty gown (after she had cleaned you up, of course).

"sorry we have to sneak around, princess. i promise one day we won't have to." she says, pecking a sweet kiss to your temple. without another word, she walks out before you, making sure it doesn't look too suspicious that you were in there together.

you're left with your reality again. you have to go back out there and dance with men that you don't love. a so simple, yet so not, marriage of convenience, when the person that your heart really belongs too has to watch from the sidelines.

but abby was right.

she couldn't have you, but she was taking you anyways.

#lynnielovestlou #lesbian #the last of us #queer #fanfiction #fanfic #abby anderson #lesbian smut #abby anderson smut #wlw fanfic #wlw #sapphic #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #x reader #twisted games #ana huang

[mangomonk]

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me

↳ summary: read this drabble first! goodie two shoes!remus, afraid of being perceived as other, stumbles into a relationship at the expense of y/n. ↳ content: angst, one-sided fake dating ↳ a/n: a little nervous because this is my first time writing for remus pls be gentle w me! for full enjoyment, listen to ivy by frank ocean (i looped it the entire time i wrote this). the more i wrote this, the more i realized i could turn this into a full blown million word fic, but i tried to keep it as condensed as possible, hence some time skips/summarization. pt. 2 here!

When Remus Lupin confesses — no, announces — that he likes her in the middle of the Great Hall, she thinks she's dreaming. Surely, she didn't hear that correctly. Only hours earlier, she had witnessed the doe-eyed boy unleash a slew of curses beneath his breath. I guess everyone has bad days, she had thought. Even Remus, who she had always pegged as straight-laced and well-mannered.

So when a half a dozen heads turn to stare at her directly, Y/N turns to see if there's anyone behind her. When she sees no one, she turns back forward. It's when Remus Lupin's soft, brown gaze meets hers that her heart stutters dangerously in her chest. She can't help it despite the bewilderment she feels — everyone in the castle has to have some sort of crush on the fluffy-haired boy. He's all soft, disarming smiles and beautiful, brown eyes and knitted jumpers and gentle laughter and—

—and Y/N goes red in the face right away. It doesn't help when Remus tilts his head to the side slightly and offers a small, uncertain smile. Merlin, help me, Y/N thinks as she stares back, wide-eyed, her confusion and any thoughts briefly neutralized at the way his eyes crinkle into little half-moons.

— — — — —

Y/N has always prided herself on being a sharp judge of character. It soon became clear to her, however, that Remus Lupin was a strange, but intriguing case of contradicting character.

Following his confession — rather, announcement — in the Great Hall, she becomes overly conscious of the tall boy. It feels as though she's suddenly very aware that they have most of their classes together, that he sits only a seat away from her in Charms, that he has chicken scratch for handwriting when she passes him in the library. The latter comes as a surprise — perhaps unfairly, she would have pegged him as a swooping cursive type of boy. In any case, it soon becomes the case that Y/N realizes that she can find Remus easily in a room of crowded students, and the more she does, the more she begins to realize that Remus is a boy full of surprises.

This doesn't seem to matter though, because strangely, after his confession in the Great Hall, Remus does not once approach her. Occasionally, she catches him glancing at her with an odd expression, but outside of an increase in being stared at by the other students, little changes in her life.

It isn't until a week later when her seat partner in Charms is out that their paths cross again. When she trudges to her seat in class, she becomes very quickly aware that they're separated only by an empty chair. She doesn't look away fast enough because Remus looks up as she pulls her chair out, his gaze snagging on to hers with an intensity that she doesn't expect from the softness of his eyes.

"Good morning," he says slowly, almost uncertainly. Up close, Y/N can see a splay of pale freckles across his cheekbones. His lashes are unfairly, distractingly long as he gazes up at her.

"Hi," Y/N says, equally uncertain, though she tries to keep her voice light and casual. No one's ever really had a crush on her before, and she finds herself floundering on how to act. Shouldn't he be the nervous one, and not her? Somehow though, she can feel her palms begin to sweat, though Remus doesn't look nervous at all. Just sharp and assessing. Fortunately though, before the air between them can turn any awkwarder, a mussed-haired head pops up from around Remus.

"Y/N, right?" James Potter asks with a wide grin. His glasses are skewed and crooked on his face as he peers around Remus at her rather owlishly.

Next to him, Remus blinks a few times as she nods, opening her mouth to speak when Professor Flitwick clears his throat to begin class.

She tries to focus on taking notes, but it's difficult when she can see Remus casting her sidelong glances from her peripheral view. She gives up on trying to focus on class entirely when a folded piece of parchment flits over the gap between them with a familiar chicken scratch.

Can we talk after class?

After class, Y/N has a ridiculous, irrational flash of self-consciousness that the humidity has made her hair begin to frizz. Remus doesn't seem to notice as she rakes a hand quickly through her hair because a nervous, almost agitated, energy is rolling off of him as he paces in the courtyard.

When he catches sight of her, he stops, a warm smile breaking across his face, though Y/N feels that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. But the new knowledge that Remus has a dimple on his left cheek and his smile is just slightly crooked is enough to disarm any wariness. Unexpectedly his nervous energy seems to dissipate immediately. "Hi," he says, "You came."

"I got your note," Y/N says, inwardly grimacing — of course he knew that already, he had been sitting next to her.

"Right, well, I, er—" Remus begins choppily, his hand rising to rub at the nape of his neck. "I was wondering about... Earlier, last week, when you saw me... Did you say anything to anyone?"

Y/N blinks at him once, then twice, blankly. "Earlier?" She questions, before the heat begins to rise to her face. He must have been referring to his confession. "I haven't said anything to anyone."

Remus's brows furrow for a moment before his face relaxes. He's surprisingly difficult to read — it feels as though any trickle of emotion is covered with a disarming soft smile. "I see," he says after a moment, his shoulders relaxing. "Right, well, Y/N," he begins, looking around them distractedly. "—shall we date?" Y/N straightens with a jolt as he continues. "I won't be offended if you say no. In fact, I'd understand if you said no, we've barely—"

She doesn't know what it is exactly. Maybe it was the curious thought that Remus might not be the charming prince he seemed to be. Maybe it was the dimple in his left cheek. Maybe it was the way he said her name. But something in Y/N slipped through her confusion and the unceremonious nature of the whole thing, because she finds herself speaking before she can stop herself. "Yeah. Let's date."

Remus's face goes slack. He looks a little startled, Y/N thinks, like she's clubbed him over the head. "Are you sure?" He blurts, eyes widening a fraction. It's perhaps the most emotion she's seen him show so far. Y/N writes it off as nerves and incredulity.

She nods once, firmly.

"I guess that's settled," he says weakly with furrowed brows, though he looked neither pleased nor displeased.

— — — — —

Initially, Y/N and Remus are as awkward as can be. She's not sure if it's because neither of them have really ever been in a relationship before, but it feels clumsy in the beginning.

Their dates start off mostly as study dates in the library, but Y/N doesn't mind — to her pleasure, she finds that they eerily work well together and she likes the calm peace of Remus's presence while she's studying. She likes to think that he also finds comfort in her presence because it's become ritual for him to ask her about the book she's reading, and vice versa. In a few weeks, they start reading the same books. Maybe it's because they spend so much time together studying that it becomes gradually more comfortable.

When they go to Hogsmeade for the first time together, Y/N finds that they end up walking around the village and chatting nearly until curfew. She tells him about what it's like growing up with three brothers — "It doesn't seem very different from the Marauders," Remus observes with a wry laugh — and he tells her stories of how despite moving around periodically during his child, his mother always found a little corner in the yard to start an herb garden.

He does all the things she'd imagine a boyfriend might — Remus is a gentleman, expectedly. He holds the door open for her, gives her his jumper when there was a draft in the library, walks her back to the Common Room at night.

But, unexpectedly, it isn't Remus's soft smiles or considerate aura that Y/N finds herself straining to see. But it was when he threw his head back and laughed himself breathless at James holding his wand on the wrong end that Y/N found it impossible to tear her eyes away from him. Or when he shot her a dour look the first time she teased him on his illegible chicken scratch. Or when Remus cursed like a sailor when he knocked his ink pot over onto his parchment because he was always so uncoordinated and graceless.

It was perhaps impossible not to fall in love with Remus Lupin. Though maybe she already knew this from the start when he first looked at her, and even more so the first time he said her name.

She liked the way he would groan and complain and grumble as he stretched out his lithe limbs in preparation of helping Peter with his essay that he had procrastinated on, even after she could see the exhaustion begin to pool under his pretty eyes. She liked that he could silence the boys with just one baleful look. She liked the way he fell asleep on his books when he thought no one was looking. She liked his dry remarks and his wolfish grin and his grumpy mood. She liked all the rough edges that Remus showed her when he would forget to put up a soft smile.

It was too easy to love Remus Lupin, though it seemed like he didn't know that himself.

It only takes four full moons for Y/N to understand what the Marauders meant whenever they quietly referred to Remus's furry little problem. In the first place, they weren't always discreet — it was easy for them to forget she was there when she was studying in the background. In the second place, Remus would apologetically cancel their studying plans around the same time each month, and he would disappear for a few days and come back exhausted with fresh scars. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, really.

But while she understood why he didn't tell her, she couldn't help but give him a tighter hug when she realized.

"Something wrong, love?" He had asked, reaching up to caress the back of her hair as she squeezed his abdomen.

"No," she had mumbled into his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent. She could feel affection swell inside her so violently she felt a little dizzy as she gave him another squeeze. "Just wish I could always be hugging you."

"No one's stopping you," Remus had responded dryly. She smiled into his chest as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "Certainly not me."

— — — — —

When Y/N tries to discreetly deliver a small care package of chocolate and books a few nights before the next full moon, she accidentally overhears Peter ask James when Remus was ending his fake relationship.

"I doubt it'll raise any suspicions now that no one's pestering him about not having a girlfriend," she hears Peter say.

James makes a noncommittal sort of noise. "You know how Remus is about these things. He's always on edge that someone will think he's the odd one out—"

She feels like the ground beneath her has stuttered and shifted into an open chasm as her mind whirls to make sense of their conversation. For a moment, she thinks she's wrong, but like it was with Remus's furry little problem, if she thinks back on the stranger moments of the past four months, it's not difficult to piece it together. She begins to feel a little ill.

How many times did he force himself to smile at her stories? How many times after walking her back to the Common Room at night did he sigh with relief when she left? How many times did he wait for other students to be around to hold her hand? All the heart-fluttering moments she had thought had been magical and wonderful and incredible with Remus had been entirely one-sided. How humiliating. She feels used and dirty and pathetic, but the worse thing is that she can't feel angry.

She doesn't know how long she stands paralyzed outside, just that it's difficult to breathe or think properly. All she can feel is a numbing ache in her chest, and the feeling tightens when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"Hmm?" Remus hums, a smile breaking across his face. The dimple in his left cheek appears briefly. "What are you doing here, love?" When she doesn't respond, he steps closer to her and peers at her face carefully, his big, brown eyes soft. "What's wrong?" He asks, gently looping his arms around her waist. Y/N goes perfectly still under his touch. "I knew you'd be studying for the Ancient Runes exam all day, so got some cakes from the kitchen for—"

"Remus," she interrupts suddenly, her throat gone cottony and dry as she raises her gaze to finally look at him. It sends a sharp pang through her chest again. "Are we ever going to kiss?"

Bizarrely, scarlet splotches appear swiftly on the high points of Remus's cheek as his eyes widen a fraction. "Kiss," he repeats, sounding strangled as he stares at her wide-eyed, looking as though she had clubbed him over the head. "You want to kiss?" He asks after a moment, his voice hoarse as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

"Do you want to kiss me?" She asks quietly, watching his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

"I've wanted to since—" Remus says softly, a little nonsensically, his eyes darting back down to her lips. His pupils are blown wide and dark as he swallows, his throat bobbing. “Y/N,” he murmurs, and she can feel his breath brush against her nose. She tries to control the thumping in her chest as he slowly leans in and raises his hand to cup her face. Remus looks down at her with a sweet adoration she knows cannot be real. She's seen this sort of soft look from him countless times before and now she knows better than anyone that it's just another cover. Perhaps it was perfectly clear since the start, but she had let herself get swept away with naive hope. The start of nothing. She feels like a fool.

Remus's head ducks slightly as the space between them closes. Y/N goes perfectly still as she watches his other hand rise, his fingers trembling a little as they reach to curve around her jaw.

For a moment, she entertains the thought and wonders what would happen if she just closes her eyes. She could close her eyes, could lean in and feel his eyelashes brush her cheek, could let him kiss her senseless. It would be so easy. It scares her a little how much she wants that.

Before she can betray herself, Y/N closes her hand around his wrist. “You can stop now,” she says, her voice low and steadier than she felt.

Remus freezes, his dazed expression crumpling in confusion. She takes a steadying breath, swallowing back the bile in her throat as she schools her expression with difficulty. Y/N places his wrist back down away from her face and lets go as she continues, despite the dull ache in her chest. “I wanted to know how far you would go,” she continues quietly. “How far you thought I would be willing to go.”

“I don’t understand—” Remus begins, a myriad of stricken dismay, alarm, and something else flickering across his face. For a moment, she thinks it’s the residue of desire, but she quickly remembers how good of an actor Remus is, and doesn’t let herself entertain that thought that it’s anything else besides panic for being caught.

"I know you're just using me," Y/N says, her throat dry. Her voice, to her mortification, cracks and comes out as a croak. Any sense of anger deflates immediately and all she can feel is this crumbling sense of defeat. “I should have known that something was strange when you suddenly confessed. We had never even really talked before that. I mean, I thought that I was dreaming when you said you liked me—"

“No, it's because—”

"I know why you did it," she whispers. Remus freezes, the color draining from his face. "The worse part of all this is that I can't find it in myself to hate you for using me. But I had just thought that you didn’t think so little of me as to…” She doesn’t finish as she stares down at the space between them, swallowing thickly. She feels ill. The last sentence had come out before she realized it. So that was what it was — disappointment.

"Did you even know my name before James said it?" She asks with a bark of a forced laugh as she straightens, setting her shoulders now though she still has a difficult time looking directly at him.

Remus swallows thickly as he steps forward. His pause is enough of an answer. "Let me explain,” he begins quickly, his words tumbling out in a frantic mess. “Y/N, wait,” he starts, reaching out.

“Don’t touch me, Lupin,” she says dejectedly, stepping away from him. Remus flinches and freezes, his expression falling, but she can't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore. Y/N stares at the worn patch of carpet by her shoe as she swallows thickly before turning to leave. "You can tell everyone that you broke up with me if it helps you."

— — — — —

a/n: thx for reading! pt. 2 here my masterlist here

#pt two from remus pov?? #hp #hp marauders #harry potter fanfiction #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #the marauders #marauders era #hp drabble #harry potter drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin drabble #light angst #remus lupin fanfiction #hp fanfic

[sinizade]

A little family tree about Izveta and Astarion because I recently discovered that vampires in D&D can have children...

The appearance and what is written about Astarion's parents is just a headcanon created by me, I keep in mind that they never found their son and ended up dying over the years since the game does not mention anything connected abt Astarion's family.

I never wrote about Izveta's father, but basically he was a quiet man and obedient to his wife even though she was extremely aggressive towards him. She killed him a few years after adopting Izveta when he tried to get rid of the girl after overhearing her talking to Sceleritas.

The day that Sarevok had mentioned in his letter arrived and Izveta could no longer think rationally, she wanted children, she needed children and so it was done... Twins with Bhaal's blood, a boy and a girl who, since they were born, already had an aptitude for magic, Belgos and Amalicia or as the people in Baldur's Gate call them "Cursed Children.

Even though they were children of a Vampire Lord and a Bhaalspawn, Belgos and Amalicia did not grow up in a troubled home, quite the contrary, Astarion and Izveta had plans for their children and being bad parents was not one of those plans. The children were loved to the extreme and no one would dare try to hurt any of them, also because no one would be crazy enough to try.

I like to think that Astarion would be a drooling father, you can see in the game that even though he tries to pretend otherwise, he loves children. I think he would remove ALL of Cazador's paintings and decorations and fill the entire castle with paintings of Elbos, Amalicia and Izveta, every hallway and room would have at least two paintings of them so that everyone could see the GREAT family he and Izveta built together

Amalicia is defiant, she took this a lot from her mother, she always wants to go out when she shouldn't, she always wants to fight with people who shouldn't, Astarion and Izveta often had to solve many of the problems she caused, whether with Astarion's vampire spawns or with some hunters she provoked when she ran away from the Castle. Even with all the problems she causes, Amalicia is still a child and many times she just wants to play.

Elbos is a calm and affectionate boy unlike his sister and is almost always seen hiding behind Astarion and Izveta's legs. He likes rats and keeps some pets hidden in his room as Astarion makes a point of banning any rats inside his castle. .

Amalicia and Elbos' relationship tends to be the basic one for children their age, they fight and then go back to playing together, but sometimes they both seem to be far away from where they are, as if they were listening to something... Or someone...

Btw, if you are a hunter or a mercenary with a functional brain and love for life, you N E V E R try to hurt the children of a Bhaalspawn and a Vampire Lord... They will do really bad things to you

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanart #baldurs gate tav #dark urge #dark urge x astarion #lord vampire #bg3 durge #astarion x durge #durge #astarion #drawing #drawings #characterdesign #draw #sketch #digital drawing #character #drawn #Evil Izveta #izveta

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Drunk on You

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After losing a bet, Frank's drunk night turns into a nightmare when he accidentally leaves a VERY honest voicemail on your phone. (Prompt: "I need to see your phone.")

warnings: swearing, excessive drinking (do NOT do this.), Frank being affectionate

a/n: This wasn't requested by anyone, I just saw this prompt and immediately pictured Frank freaking out about a voicemail he left on someone's phone. A huge shout out to @gracethyomen and @madschiavelique who I forced into beta-ing this for me multiple times. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you!

w/c: 6k (Yah, i know. I got carried away.)

Frank liked to think that he was decently romantic—so it was almost embarrassing that your relationship happened by accident. 

He didn’t possess a natural charm, like the one that Red always flaunted, but he could usually hold his own when he found someone attractive. Before…everything, his cocky attitude and unjustified youthful arrogance helped him flirt with Maria. Since the loss of his family, flirting was more of a pastime. Until you. 

From the moment you both met, Frank had known that you were different—that you were never meant to be a casual fling. It terrified him, at first, but after many many lectures from Curtis, he was ready to try a relationship again. 

Despite that fact, he could never seem to get the words out. 

Flirting with you was as easy as pulling a trigger, but being honest and open about his feelings? Never his strong suit. He was just thankful that Curtis believed in boundaries and David was oblivious, otherwise you would’ve gotten the news through the grapevine weeks before he blurted it out. 

It all started when David scolded him.

“Language, Castle. This is a family establishment.” His stern tone was completed with a pointed finger.

The two men were seated on opposite sides of the Lieberman’s sturdy dining room table, on the precipice of one of their classic “Family Dinner Spats”–a term Curtis had coined exasperatedly a few weekly meals ago. You, Sarah, and Curt were also currently at the table, nursing your wine while the kids played video games in the living room.

Smirking at David's tone, you raised a brow at the curly haired man. “Can you really call your suburban house an ‘establishment’?”

Frank chuckled at your attempt to defend him, his lips parting around the lip of his beer bottle in a smug smile.

“The house has been established, and there is a family present.” David snapped at you with a no-nonsense look. Looking at his wife incredulously, he threw his hands in a vague gesture. “C’mon Sarah, back me up!”

Sarah shrugged at him, grinning at his defeated groan. Shooting you and Frank a knowing look, she murmured, “We’ve all heard worse.“

Desperate for someone to agree with him, David glanced across the table pleadingly. “Curtis? C’mon man.”

Sighing, Curtis nodded, his lips twitching in a tiny smile. “You do have a foul mouth, Frank. There are children present.”

Frank scoffed, gesturing widely to the two teenagers in the other room.

Crinkling your nose as you stifled a laugh, you nodded solemnly. “They sort of have a point, Frank. Your vocabulary could make a sailor blush.”

Finally vindicated, David crowed, “You practically only speak in curses and grunts!”

The marine gaped. “Christ, I am not that bad.”

Smelling a game, David’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh yah? I bet you couldn’t go a week without swearing.

Sarah and Curtis took the vague challenge, and Frank’s responding bitter laugh, as their cue to leave the table, murmuring about cleaning up after dinner and chuckling to each other as they left. You, unfortunately, were far too intrigued to remove yourself from the conversation.

Good thing you were entertained, because David was far from finished with his accusations. “You know what? I don’t think you could even last a single day without that sinfully filthy language of yours, Castle.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his jaw was tense. “Ya gonna make me a swear jar, Lieberman? What are you, my ma?”

David shrugged, pleased at how easily he was able to get under the hulking man’s skin. “Someone has to teach you some manners.”

You tapped a finger on your chin, meeting David’s roguish gaze. “He’s right though, a swear jar would never compel him to change.”

David crossed his arms. “And you have a better suggestion?”

Frank glanced at you, brow raised in curiosity, lips pursed.

You grinned manically. “Maybe a drinking game? Every curse word he says within 24 hours means he takes a shot.”

The technician erupted in bellowing laughter. “YES!”

Ignoring him, Frank smirked at you. “Tryin’ to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You placed a hand over your heart in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken, Frankie.”

The large man bristled, straightening his posture as he shook his head. “Course not.”

David was glowing. “So you accept?”

“Uh—“ Frank’s hesitation was quickly settled by your adorable expression, your head tilted at him as you anticipated his next move. “Fuck, I guess.”

Practically screeching, David pointed a finger at the man, looking at you excitedly. “Oh my god, that counts right? That totally counts!”

Laughing as David practically began a victory dance, you raised your glass of wine. ”Let the game begin!”

What had he gotten himself into?

Unfortunately for his liver, the next 24 hours did not get easier.

With the combined efforts of you, Curtis, David, and the various CCTV systems of New York city, the tally landed at 52 curses in 24 hours.

“Holy shit, Frank,” You gaped at the final count, turning to him with wide eyes. “Were you even trying?”

Frank glowered, sinking further into the booth next to you. “Yes.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to change these rules a bit. Otherwise, you’ll need a transplant by next week.” You frowned, eyes glowing with the light of David’s computer screen.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now, doll.” Frank muttered, the corner of his lips lifting up against his will.

“I’m always soft on you, tough guy.”Your words were earnest, causing Frank's throat to constrict. You raised a hand to pinch his cheek, seemingly unperturbed by his furious blush.

As if knowing he was ruining the moment, David returned to the table with a tray of half a dozen shot glasses. “Who’s ready to get wasted?”

Groaning, Frank dropped his head into his hands—his stomach already churning.

“New rules:” You announced, “No more than 7 drinks an hour.”

“Woah woah woah, who died and made you referee?” David scoffed.

“Everyone who has ever taken 52 shots in one night.” You retorted, refusing to change your mind.

While David began placing a row of tiny glasses in front of him, you took one of Frank's calloused hands in your much more delicate one. He raised his head to meet your serious gaze. “Hey, you do not have to do this. It was a stupid bet.” You were chewing on your bottom lip, his hand itched to cup your face and smooth the furrow in your brow.

“Um, he does so have to do this! I already put my card down. Drink up, asshole!” As David shoved the alcohol towards him, your arm shot out, acting as a barricade.

Looking at him with an inquisitive concern, you stroked your thumb over his knuckles. With a sigh, Frank grasped one of the shots between two fingers, downing it with a grimace.

David cheered. “Thattaboy! Drink up!!”

Biting your lip, you slid a single shot towards yourself and one to David. “If he’s going to do this, he’s not doing it alone. Drink up, Lieberman.” You teased, parroting his words before downing your own shot with a grace that was shocking and incredibly attractive. 

“Damn, that’s smooth. You shelled out for us.” You snorted, setting the shit glass back on the sticky table. 

Pouting at the tiny cup of clear liquid, David groaned. “I haven’t had tequila since college.”

“Sounds like you made a poor choice of beverage then. Drink!” You grinned at him, face warming as Frank slid an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s gotta point, Lieberman. You’ve dug your own grave. I ain’t drinkin’ another drop until you take that.” Frank smirked, eyes dancing with a mirth that you’d been missing.

“C’mon David!” You encouraged, the curly-haired man across from you finally nodding and downing the drink with a gag.

You and Frank cheered, laughing as he coughed in the aftermath.

“Alright, it’s gone. Your turn.” David nodded to the three remaining shots, crossing his arms impatiently.

Huffing out a breath, Frank tossed all three back, chasing the acrid taste with a swig of the beer he’d purchased himself without thinking. “There, ya fuckin’ happy now?”

“Thrilled.” David laughed. “We’re going to wait…15 minutes, and then I’m going to hustle you in pool.” Setting a timer on his watch, the engineer missed Frank’s exaggerated eye roll.

“Doesn’t a hustle require one party to not know they’re being hustled?” You asked, settling into Frank’s side with a smile.

“I could kick your ass with my eyes closed, Lieberman.” Frank snorted.

“Oh please, it's all geometry–I'm a whiz at geometry.”

Listening to them bicker, you couldn't help but smile. Sipping your beer, you crossed your legs, excited for the upcoming show.

As Frank's inhibitions grew steadily lower, you were joined at the booth by Curtis and Karen–both of whom were humored by the giant man's state, but not free of their own worry.

“Y’all trying to kill him?” Curtis chuckled, eyes focused on Frank's uncharacteristically wide grin as he slid into the booth across from you, beer in hand.

“Trust me, I’ve been negotiating Lieberman down all night to spare his intestines.” You huffed, your own gaze fixated on Frank as he lined up his next shot at the pool table, muscles bulging against his tight shirt as he bent over.

“See something you like?” Karen asked gleefully, lips curled in a smirk.

“Shut up,” You hissed, squirming in your seat as your body was hit with a flash of warmth.

“He's not making this easy for you, is he?” Curtis chuckled, sending Karen a knowing look.

“Does he always get so…touchy when he’s drunk?” You asked quietly, trying not to salivate as you got a perfect view of Frank's ass, his back turned towards you as he played his next turn.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Curtis shook his head at you.

“Oh stop it,” You groused, ignoring your friends' giggles as you slid off of the vinyl bench and made straight for the bar.

“Um whiskey. Neat, please.” You stammered out your order to the bartender, trying not to cringe at how disjointed the words sounded. Your mind was entirely preoccupied by the feelings you harbored for the man currently guffawing behind you. The scraping of glass on wood startled you out of your daydream.

Taking the glass from the bartender, trying not to meet their gaze as they eyed you suspiciously, you nodded a thank you.

Before you could return to your seat, a thick arm wrapped around your shoulders--a sensation that would've been horrifying had it not been accompanied by a familiar voice.

“When did ya start drinkin’ whiskey?” Frank's deep rasp ignited a heat deep in your gut, stealing the words straight off your tongue.

”I-I, uh didn't,“ You squeaked out, shoving the glass to Frank's chest. “I figured you’d want something other than mid-shelf tequila.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, your breath caught in your throat as you met his stare.

Frank's lips were tilted in a small smile, the tension he normally carried in his jaw nowhere to be found. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed from running his hands through it throughout the night. Boring into you, his beautiful ochre eyes crinkled with a happiness you rarely saw from the man.

A rough knuckle tipped your jaw upwards, shutting your mouth, which had apparently been hanging open as you admired the figure before you. “Somethin' on my face, sweetheart?”

Tilting his head, his eyes twinkled, his smile growing wider as you remained silent. “No, Frankie.”

“Good. C'mon, I need someone to cheer for me when I whup Lieberman's ass for a third time.” Frank snorted, pressing a kiss to your crown before taking your hand and dragging you towards the pool table.

The rest of the night flew by, a symptom of the intense focus you held on Frank's relaxed drunken nature. He'd been tipsy with you before, so you'd caught glimpses of this behavior from the man previously, but it would always catch you off guard to see him so...easygoing.

It wasn't that Frank wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly sweet, he just wasn't usually so forthcoming with his emotions. Nor was he normally content snuggling with you in public.

Rubbing his nose against your hair, Frank gave a sleepy hum before pulling back to down the rest of the ice water you'd forced into his grasp. His hand was gently gripping your waist, thumb tracing lines over your hip as your friends chatted. Frank was much too tired to be paying any attention, and your ability to retain any conversation topic flew out the window the moment his hand landed on your side.

Watching as his free hand lifted to clumsily scrub at his face, you frowned. “Wanna call it a night, Frank? You look ready to drop.”

“'M fine.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, you'd hoped the water would stave off the impending headache for now.

“The kid's right.” David remarked, smirking at your offended scoff. “If I'm beat, you must be half dead. I'll go close the tab."

"Can the rest of you make it home ok if I handle this one?" You asked, kneading at Frank's neck as he dropped his head to your shoulder with a grumpy huff.

"Yah, we can get David home in one piece." Karen promised, squeezing Frank's arm as she passed. "Goodnight."

"Ok, tough guy. You gotta get out so I can get out," You murmured, nudging the marine as carefully as possible.

Grumbling under his breath, he slid out of the booth, grabbing the table as he listed sideways.

"Christ, Frankie. Hold on, I gotcha." You grunted as he leaned against you, his weight shifting you off balance. Wrapping an arm around his waist in a motion similar to the one he'd made mere minutes ago, you shuffled towards the door. "Ok, Castle, you gotta work with me a little bit here."

As the two of you neared the exit, you heard an indignant squawk from the bar. "I OWE HOW MUCH??"

Chuckling softly, Frank's skull knocked against yours. "We'd better get outta here, sweetheart."

The two of you made it back to Frank's tiny apartment without incident, though the man was stumbling all the way. When you reached his front door, he snatched his keys from his pocket, tossing them at you without a word. 

Not expecting the projectile, the ring of keys hit you square in the chest, your chin following them as they crashed to the grimy carpet underneath your feet. Looking at Frank with narrowed eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

Frank chuckled quietly, his laugh as close to a giggle as it would probably ever get. His half-lidded eyes creased as he grinned at you. “Sorry,” The apology was undercut by the shit-eating expression on his face. 

“Drag your ass all the way home, breaking my back doing so–mind you,” You complained halfheartedly, your chest swelling with fondness as Frank’s raspy laughs continued. “And you just throw your shit at me.” 

Shaking your head, you let your smile betray you as he kissed your forehead. “You’re unbelievable, Castle.” 

“Thanks for puttin’ up with me.” His stubble scratched your skin as he spoke, his lips still resting against your temple. 

“Anytime, big guy.” Your eyes fell closed as his hand rubbed over your lower back.

After a minute, Frank spoke again. “Are ya gonna open the door, or am I gonna have to sleep in the hallway?” 

“Jesus Christ.” You groused, breaking out of his hold to squat down and grab his keys.

Just like that, Frank was back in stitches, shifting his weight to the door frame as his body shook with near silent laughter.

Shoving the key in the lock, you opened the door and shoved at him gently. "Get in there, goofball."

Shuffling inside, Frank beelined for the couch, collapsing onto it with his boots still on. Rolling your eyes, you followed him in, crouching by his feet to start unlacing his shoes.

Wriggling on his stomach, he craned his neck to look at you. “Whattya doin'?”

“Taking your shoes off, Frankie.” You explained without stopping your actions.

Grumbling, he flapped an arm at you clumsily. “Leave 'em.”

Huffing with exasperated affection, you ignored him. "You'll be more comfortable if I take them off, Frank."

You received a disgruntled noise in response, but his arm stopped moving. Face squashed against a throw pillow, his eyes were closed and his pink lips were parted--soft breaths slipping in and out of them every so often.

Finally pulling his second boot off, you sat back on your heels with a satisfied sigh. Standing as quietly as you could, you strode to the tidy kitchen.

Given that you were well-acquainted with Frank's place, you moved around the apartment with ease, finding the sparse first aid kit that he possessed and making a mental note to bring some supplies by soon. Sure, Frank would manage—he was the most capable man you'd ever met—but you wanted to make his life easier in any way you could.

Which is why you grabbed a few individually wrapped pain pills and placed them on the coffee table, along with a glass of water. Now for the difficult part.

"Frank, I know you're comfy like this but you have to turn to your side for me." You spoke softly, running a hand up his arm and pushing in the direction he needed to turn.

"Hngh..." Frank protested sleepily. "Why?"

Stifling a smile at the grumpy face he made, you continued to push. "C'mon, you big baby. On your side, so you don't choke and die overnight."

Huffing frustratedly, Frank flopped onto his side, glaring at you.

“Thank you. Do you need a blanket?” You asked, laughing indignantly when he flipped you off. “That was an actual question, asshole.”

Standing up, you took a step towards the worn armchair on the other side of the coffee table, nearly tumbling over when a force tugged on your wrist. Eyes closed again, Frank was poorly hiding a smile as he yanked your arm towards him with more strength than his inebriated self should have been capable of. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you feeling nice now?” You grumbled, balancing your weight over him precariously as you tried to escape his hold.

Tugging your arm again, Frank muttered a jumble of grouchy nonsense.

“Christ, Frank.” You snorted, rolling your eyes to the ceiling before sliding your palms underneath his shoulders to shift him over. Squishing onto the couch next to his head, you found yourself smiling as he wriggled towards you, settling his head into your lap with a relieved exhale. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a piece of work when you’re drunk?”

Your murmur was more for yourself than for him, but he responded nonetheless. “M’ria.”

It was far from the first time he’d spoken to you about his late wife, but hearing her name fall from his lips when he was in such a vulnerable state felt like a swift punch to the gut. Regaining your composure, you threaded your fingers into his hair. “Go to sleep, Frankie.”

As your nails softly scratched at his scalp, darkness crept into the corners of his vision, his eyes fluttering closed again.

The next few hours passed like fractions of a dream. A warm pliant surface beneath his cheek, a cool hand running through his hair. A whispered conversation and hushed groans. A loss of contact.

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol-induced fatigue, Curtis appeared, taking over your role as his babysitter. Curt was good at taking care of him...he was a lot less pretty than you were, though.

“Christ, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Curtis griped, insulted by comment Frank hadn't intended to share, shoving a bottle of some form of sports drink at him. “Drink this.”

Scowling, Frank took a long swig. As he was gulping down the sugary liquid, his eyes locked on a piece of fabric draped over the back of the couch. Setting the drink down, and nearly spilling it all over himself in the process, he grabbed clumsily for the coat, clutching it to his chest when his fingers finally landed around it. ”She forgot it.“

”What?“ Curtis, rubbing a knuckle between his brows, looked unamused.

”Her coat, Curt.“ Frank whispered, holding it out to show the other man. ”We gotta find her. She forgot it. It's winter.“

Shaking his head with a huff, Curtis dropped his head into his hands. ”I'm sure she'll be fine without it for a night. Go to sleep, Frank.“

Frank frowned, still focused on the piece of plastic in his hands.

Grappling his pocket, he eventually pulled out his phone and flipped it open, squinting at the bright screen as it powered on. Scrolling through the list of contacts, he found the one he wanted and dialed.

”Frank,“ Curtis sighed, but didn't stop him from calling you.

Receiving your voicemail, Frank groaned. “Sweetheart, you better not be frozen to death out there somewhere. You left your coat here. You gotta come and get it, ok? I don't want you to be cold.”

”Hang up and sleep, Castle.“ Called the medic from Frank's bedroom. When had he gone in there?

Ignoring his friend's explicit instructions, Frank sighed. “Please come back. I like having you here. You just...you take such good care of me, and I really don't deserve it, but you do it anyways, and--” The phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Frank says goodnight.” Curtis snapped into the phone before ending the call.

“Hey!” Frank glowered, fumbling for Curtis's hand to take the device back.

“Go to sleep, Frank. You can talk to her tomorrow. Trust me, you'll be grateful I took this away when you've sobered up. You don't need to be spilling your secrets to her over voicemail.“ Spreading a blanket over Frank, Curtis glared at him. ”Close your eyes, Marine. I am not playing games with you tonight.“

Rolling to his other side so that Curtis couldn't see him, he smirked at the other man's final snort. ”Real mature, Frank. I'm taking your bed. I'll be out to check on you every once in a while.“

As Curtis retreated into the other room, Frank waited impatiently, staring at the back of the couch until he heard a door close. Grinning in satisfaction, he withdrew his burner phone from his other pocket, opening it up and inputting your number.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone. I wasn't done talking to ya. I like talkin' to ya, it makes me feel...god, I'm bad at this. I dunno, sweetheart, you make me feel good...special. I haven't felt that way in a long damn time. But you just make it seem so easy. You make everything seem so easy...”

The intense rolling of his stomach is what ruptured his unconsciousness, igniting a spark of adrenaline powerful enough to carry him to the bathroom so he could collapse in front of the toilet.

God, he felt fucking awful. His head was pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine, his throat burned with acid as he emptied his stomach repeatedly. Moaning with regret, he slapped the lever to flush the toilet, sinking back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub behind him.

“Was wondering when that would happen. David owes me 20 bucks.” Curtis leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom with his arms crossed, smirking at Frank's evident misery.

“Glad I could help.” Frank muttered, digging the heel of his hand into one of his eyes in an attempt to offset some of the building pressure in his skull.

“You look like shit.” Curtis chuckled, passing him a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, rinsing out his mouth before throwing back a few pills.

“Well, clearly you're feeling more like yourself. Christ.” Curtis snorted.

“God, Curt, what happened last night?” Frank grimaced. 

“Besides you drinking enough to kill a racehorse? Not much. Unless you count me discovering your collection of burner phones as ‘interesting’.”

Curtis’s words were innocuous, but Frank felt a wave of dread crash over him at the implications. 

“What collection?“ He asked mournfully, hoping fiercely that Curt didn’t mean–

“The one you were using to call your girl.” Fuck. “Every time I turned around, there was a new phone in your hands. Can't say I didn't try to stop you from making an ass of yourself, you just managed to do it anyway.”

“Fuck!” Frank cursed. That was exactly what he was hoping to avoid. “Please tell me you're jokin'.”

“Unfortunately not, Frank.“ The other man laughed, but his brow pinched in sympathy. “You're gonna have some explaining to do, I expect.”

“Fuck me. What did I say?” He looked to his friend pleadingly, feeling like his impending doom was perched just over his shoulders.

“I didn't catch all of it, but the parts I heard were pretty damning.” Curtis rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Frank’s intense eyes.

Mustering the dwindling energy he had, Frank lurched to his feet, stumbling towards the door. Thankfully, Curtis caught him when his balance faltered after a few steps.

“Woah, shit, Frank! Where are you goin'?” Curtis chastised preemptively, letting Frank lean against him as he ambled to the foyer.

“To apologize, or delete that message. Whatever needs to be done.” Frank’s jaw was stiff, his voice gruff with fear and discomfort. Undraping his arm from Curt’s shoulders, Frank bent down to grab his boots, halting as the motion caused a spike of pain to shoot through his brain. Clenching his fingers around his thighs, he bit his tongue to keep from hurling again.

“Jesus, Frank. This isn't a goddamn military operation.” Curt scoffed, kicking Frank’s shoes closer to him with a grunt.

Frank huffed a bitter laugh. “You're right, that would be easier.” Squatting down, Frank shoved his boots on and laced them up.

“You need serious help, you know that?” Curtis sighed, only waiting a moment before slipping his own shoes on. “C'mon. I'll drive you.”

Tipping your chin up, you let the final dregs of your latte trickle across your tongue, silently begging for those few drops to contain the caffeine you'd need for the rest of the day. You were practically giddy with lack of sleep and the immense amount of sugar you'd dumped into the coffee to make it palatable–you weren't used to so many extra espresso shots.

After looking out for Frank at the bar, wrangling him on the journey home, leaving abruptly to accompany your distraught roommate and her accident-prone boyfriend to the hospital, and then staying with said roommate all night while her boyfriend got a cast put over his broken arm–you were understandably exhausted. And, if you were honest with yourself, a bit aggravated that you'd been ripped away from Frank when he was so unusually receptive to your affection.

It wasn't as if you could just call Curtis and ask to switch roles again, it was almost noon. Frank would probably be up and hungover by now–far grouchier than the cuddly lump he'd become last night when he passed out on your lap. No use to mourn that loss any further, you supposed. It wouldn't be that hard to make him agree to another bet, after all. 

Lounging on the couch, your eyes slipped shut for a moment, flying open in shock when you heard a knock at the door. Of course someone would show up right after you sat down. Inhaling deeply to keep from groaning, you dragged yourself off of the couch and to the door. Huh, speak of the devil.

Unlatching the door, you rested a hand on your hip as you took in the posture of the man before you. Frank looked awful, a perfect example of the saying “green around the gills”. He was slouched forward, barely meeting your gaze, and his complexion was so alarmingly pale that it was more translucent. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on your doorstep, he spoke.

“I need to see your phone.” His tone was pained and especially gravelly, which made sense given how hungover he must be right now.

“Damn, Castle. Hello to you too.” You laughed, the humor of it not fully reaching your eyes as concern churned in your gut. Stepping out of the way, you allowed him to stride past you into the apartment. 

Looking over his shoulder at you sheepishly, he cringed. “Sorry, hi. Your phone?”

Well he’s clearly on a mission. You had to admit, you were curious what he was so riled up about. 

Your eyes narrowing, you gestured to where it sat on the counter, anchored by its designated cord. “It's charging. It died while I was running around last night and I just got home, so.” Frowning in confusion, you picked it up to show him. 

“Thank god.” Frank let his face fall into his palms, collapsing onto your couch. 

“Why do you need my phone, Frank?” Intrigue still piqued, you flicked a thumb across the screen to activate your phone.

Realizing he’d made a fatal error in his anguished haze, Frank swiveling in his seat, craning his neck just in time to see a massive grin break out across your face. “Shit wait–”

“Jesus Frank, are you ok? Why did you call me so many times?” You laughed, scrolling through the myriad of notifications you’d apparently missed from him. 

“Sweetheart I'm begging you–” Standing on his wobbly legs, he hurried to remove the device from your hands, but it was too late.

“You left multiple voicemails?” You looked at him with an almost pompous smile, clearly taking satisfaction in his downfall.

“Please don’t–” He made for your phone, but his reflexes were lacking. Spinning just out of his reach, you raised the phone above your head victoriously.

“Voicemail number one!” You announced proudly, pressing play on the recording. 

Frank’s voice sounded tinny through the small speakers, or maybe it was just being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. “You forgot your coat…”

“Aw, Frank, that's so sweet!” You spoke over the short message, your lip sticking out slightly as you looked at him with gratitude.

Stepping towards you with his palms displayed, he tried for a placating tone. “Yup. That was all, no need to listen to any more of–”

“Voicemail number 2!” You crowed, darting out of the kitchen as he grabbed wildly for the offending phone once more. 

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone...”

“This ain't funny.” Frank growled, scurrying after you into the living room “Turn those off!” 

“You left them for me!” You giggled, holding the phone to your ear and squealing with delight at his first confession.

“You make everything seem so easy–”

“Aw, Frank–”

“It's so hard for me to focus when you're around–”

By the grace of some higher power, his drunk rambling cut off. Nearly keeling over, he leaned heavily against the back of your couch. “Thank Christ.”

“VOICEMAIL NUMBER 3!” You said gleefully, practically dancing with joy as Frank resumed chasing you.

“Goddamn it.” He muttered. He should have known he wasn’t that lucky.

“I can't stop thinkin' about ya–”

His words were coming back to him now, and it was crystal clear that he had very limited time to retrieve the phone before your relationship with him was irreparably damaged. Nearly bowling your coffee table over, he managed to snatch the hem of your sweatshirt, but you simply slipped out of it and resumed your lap of the space. 

“I can never stop thinkin about ya–”

You leapt onto the couch and over the arm, making for your bedroom. How on earth were you this agile after last night? He was pretty sure this would be the last thing he ever did. 

“I hope you made it home safe–”

You stumbled around your bed frame and Frank saw an opening. 

“You shoulda stayed here with me–”

His eyes narrowed, vision tunneling like a predator’s. Frank bounded forward and your eyes widened as you realized he had you cornered.

“I'll always keep you safe–”

Finally, he arrived within the distance he needed, snatching you by the waist and spinning you into him. Your chests were pressed together, quivering with the force of labored breaths, but before he could hit the power button– 

“Cause, I dunno, I just love ya, sweetheart. I'd never let anythin' happen to ya.”

His world blurred, his heart pounding so aggressively it felt like it was creeping out of his rib cage. It was done. It was over.

Panting, you looked up at him with a furrowed brow. His heart sank as he watched the realization crawl across your face. 

“You...you love me?” You asked meekly as Frank took a step away from you.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, he couldn’t decide whether he needed to scream or be sick. An apology roosted on his tongue, but his mouth was too dry for the words to come out.

“You love me.” You murmured, looking at the phone as if it would explain his words for you.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinkin'–” He choked out, scrambling backwards sloppily so that he wouldn’t witness your pity.

“Frank–” You spoke softly, the sympathetic edge to your words cutting his composure like a blade.

“Christ, I'll just go, I'm sorry–” He whispered, his throat tightening with immense regret.

“Frank” Your fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, turning him back to face you. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the rejection and subsequent loss of connection that he’d stupidly caused. But it never came. 

Instead, your free hand cupped his neck, pulling his lips to meet yours. His knees wavered, nearly giving out as your soft lips met his. He was bombarded with surprise and affection and relief. Pulling back from him, you rubbed a finger over his nape and smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

“You–” He was too shocked to even ask a full question. His knees finally gave out and he fell against you. 

“Woah, careful there, tough guy.” You chuckled, nudging him backwards so that he crumbled onto your mattress instead of taking you both to the ground. 

Listing sideways onto your mattress, he let you prod at his limbs until he was fully seated. Bile was swiftly rising in his throat, but whether it was from the chase or the resulting emotions, he was unsure. Swallowing roughly, he grimaced. 

Biting your lip, you let go of his wrist to stroke your blissfully cool fingers along his cheek. “Let me get you some water, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Eyes falling closed, Frank took a handful of measured breaths, lips twitching with a small smile despite his current agony. You loved him too. He had a feeling that he should be skeptical, but he was experiencing too much to consider that at the moment. For now, he would just accept this outcome, however miraculous it might seem. 

Hearing your soft footsteps back into the room, he opened his eyes–immediately regretting it when his head convulsed with a renewed stab of pain. Moaning softly, he scrunched his eyes shut, bringing his thumbs up to his brows to knead them in the hope it would lessen the ache. 

“Head bothering you?” Your voice was impossibly soft as you knelt by his side, gently prying one of his hands away from his face and pressed a cold glass into it. 

“Yah. Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to crash here.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I already texted Curt and told him you’d be staying here for a bit.” Pulling back your sheets on the other side of the bed, you propped yourself up next to him. “Tired?”

Grumbling affirmatively, Frank tilted his head into your shoulder, rolling as far into you as he could stomach. “But we should probably–”

“We got all the time in the world, sweetheart.” You stroked his stubbled chin languidly, smirking as his expression relaxed beneath your touch. “Just sleep. After last night, we both need it.”

“God, I love you.” He murmured, throwing an arm over your hips and letting you nestle in close. 

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Frank.” 

Frank made a mental reminder to buy Lieberman a beer the next time they went out. He’d never admit it to David, but he was beyond grateful that his uninhibited self had finally made a move. 

Feeling more content than he had in months, he let himself drift off to the sound of your soft breathing.

Thanks for reading!!

#frank castle #my writing #frank castle x reader #the punisher #marvel #nmcu #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fc

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝕮𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖉'𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘

Summary: You've been pinning for Farleigh for years. But you've never been able to manage in finding the courage to confess. It isn't until a friend of Felix, who's visiting for the summer raises up a mirror to your longing that you force yourself to admit your feelings.

Warnings: 18+ content. Minors DNI. AFAB. American! Reader. Unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, oral (F!receiving), guided masturbation, overstimulation.

Notes: 21.6k words (this one got away from me a bit!) Not proofread. Banner by @saradika-graphics

The heat that hung over Saltburn was almost unbearable. Parching and thick; some days it felt as though it was choking you by filling your lungs with a heavy, muggy air and peppering your skin with perspiration. The sweat beading your body was near constant, and it was close impossible to escape the swelter. And the Catton's, who are dreadfully old fashioned at times didn't have any air conditioning to speak of, and if they do, then the units weren't a fixture in any of the rooms that you had ever personally been able to frequent. 

The servants have taken to opening as many windows as they could around the house to achieve even the faintest semblance of airflow, but their attempts, even though appreciated, were hardly successful. Often times you'd catch glimpses of them stealthily slipping around the house or standing around in vacant corners with drops of sweat glinting on their foreheads and necks. Even you have had to start shoving the window of your temporary quarters open, tacking an unused bed sheet that you had soaked in the bath with cold water to the sills in a desperate strive to get even the faintest hint of a cool breeze. Luckily it does work somewhat. But it's hardly enough to make much of a difference. Most of time you feel as though you want to crawl out of your own flesh. It's like it's been sewn on too tight. Suffocating and restricting. And the only reprieve that you get is when you fill up the bath with water chilled enough to keep ice solid and lie in it. 

It was awful. And despite being in a literal castle in England for the summer, surrounded by low, slopping green hills and ancient stone walls that were older than your grandfather's father, there were times where you felt as though you had unknowingly accepted an invitation into the lowest pits hell. 

It was because of the absolutely demonic heat that you had all taken to spending the majority of your days alongside the pond. Filing away hours of the day with the support of a colorful pool floaty underneath your body while you drift along the rippling surface of the makeshift pool or sit beneath the shade offered by one of the patio umbrellas while you reclined on a lounge chair. It was the only respite from the heat. The only thing that kept you from feeling as though you might actually die. 

But honestly, if death was going to greet you at Satlburn then it wouldn't be by the dealings of the temperamental summer weather. It would be at the hands of a someone rather than a something. And that particular person had you wondering if maybe you had done something to warrant a punishment. If perhaps you were a bad person in your past life. That this might be some form of karma. Some sort of cosmic retribution for a crime that you had committed once long ago. Maybe reincarnation was a thing, and this was your sentence for . . . stealing a loaf of bread or something. 

But unfortunately for God or the universe or whatever, you were a hopeless and pathetic masochist because this was an absolutely beautiful punishment as much as it was a torturous one. And if you were going to spend the golden months of the year perpetually slick with sweat then at least you'd spend it being able to see him. 

Admittedly, you'd often make yourself look away from him. You didn't want to be a creep, and even though you were pretty sure that he hasn't even noticed your blatant admiration, you couldn't fight off that little bit of self-loathing that would seep into your bones whenever you'd catch yourself staring for too long. It was honestly sad, the way that you've just been helplessly pining after him for all of this time and he hasn't as so much as batted an eye in your direction. Hasn't noticed your pitiful little crush. It's probably a blessing that he hasn't though. You aren't sure you'd even survive it if he ever was to become privy to your feelings. 

It would be cataclysmic. It would completely alter the very foundation of your friendship with him entirely and forever. No doubt a terrible rift would rip between the both of you and you don't think that you'd survive that. You've always been so close to Farleigh for nearly as long as you could remember, ever since the early years of high school back when he was still unsure of how to navigate it, having spent a decent amount of his life receiving his education in a private, preppy facility. But then his mother had begun to lose more and more of her financial stability and as a result he had been enrolled in your school. He had been clearly unimpressed with the state of the building and the students that made up the body, but for whatever reason he had intrigued you. Maybe it was all of his snark and bite, but regardless the both of you had just seemed to seamlessly gravitate towards each other then and it's remained that way to this day. If a divide were to suddenly rip through your relationship all because of your silly feelings then, as sad as it sounds, you wouldn't even know what to do with yourself. He's been such a constant fixture in your life and for so long, that his absence would no doubt leave you scrambling. 

But just because Farleigh himself hasn't noticed, that doesn't mean that the other's haven't. They never spoke of it, at least not whenever he was around - thank God for that. But you could see the knowing side long glances that they would give you whenever the both of you happened to be in the same room. The way that Venetia and Felix would conspiratorially lean towards each other and whisper and giggle amongst themselves like a pair of awful, gossiping old ladies. Even James has taken notice. You could see it in the way that he would squint at you from the head of the dinner table whenever Farleigh would pull your chair out for you to take a seat beside his own. The silent judgement searing from his eyes whenever you could barely contain the helpless, cheerful smile that would always grow on your face from Farleigh's presence. 

Even with James' apparent distaste for you it never kept Farleigh from repeatedly inviting you over for vacation, always so persistent. And the family's patriarch could never keep you away, not with his glaring and skulking. Not with the younger Catton's always backing you in your corner, insisting that you come. Even Elspeth, as airheaded and admittedly two-faced as she could be, had apparently taken a liking to you and you know that it must absolutely drive James up a wall to know that his entire family is always vying to get you to stay over at the estate. After all, the last time that you had visited he had somehow come to the conclusion that you were just here to seek out the family fortune. According to the bits of gossip that Venetia had slipped you, he had referred to you as 'a lazy American,' and a 'leech.' 

As petty as it may be it is always a little nice to know that you get underneath his skin so badly. The old, cranky bastard that he is. It could almost a highlight of your trips to Saltburn if it wasn't for the fact that little bit of satisfaction was constantly being upstaged by Farleigh and the torrent of pathetically overwhelming and warm emotions that bubble up every time you see him. 

Much like the sugared, mushy heat that flutters inside of your chest now. A stark kind of joy. Something happy and entirely too secret and tender for a person that's so unabashedly bold and outspoken. But you really just can't help yourself or the emotions that seem to drag you behind them by your heart and head and limbs like some sort of powerless marionette. 

It honestly has to be one of the most humbling reactions, to be embarrassed by your own emotions while also being unable to do a damn thing about them. It has you strung up in some perpetual state of exhaustion and it seems that you're not the only one that's become exasperated with your pathetic yearning, because a long, weary groan drags out from Felix's throat and makes you force your gaze away from Farleigh who is currently relaxing along the placid surface of the pond. Making the water glitter in flashes of champagne and silver from the wake of his legs dragging in the gentle current while the side of his floaty brushes up against the lily pads scattered along the peaceful body of water. 

And when you glance over at Felix, he looks tired and ragged, and the cigarette dangling from between his lips is a good sigh away from falling from its perch and falling onto his lap. You go to warn him, but he saves your breath by quickly plucking it between two fingers while he snaps his book shut with a huff and carelessly tosses it onto the mini table beside his lounger. 

You can't help the furrow that pinches between your eyebrows while you scoff amusedly. Felix has never been good at handling his irritation or anger and seeing him get upset is almost akin to watching a toddler wrestle with their feelings. It's always been sort of entertaining to observe, if it wasn't also so draining. 

"What's up with you?" You ask, shifting along the fabric support of your chaise to evaluate him better, squinting when it briefly has you tipping out from underneath the cover of your umbrella and into the harsh glow of the evening sun. He shakes his head like he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to waste his time, but you can tell by the way that his top lip scrunches up that he won't be able to contain his complaints for long. 

"It just between you with Farleigh, and Venetia and Eddie, I honestly don't think that I'm going to survive this summer." He grouses, glaring at something to the both of your rights from over the rim of his sunglasses. And when you lean up in your seat and track his line of sight it has your own taking in the previously stated pair who are huddled up on the grass, leaning into each other and laughing while they clutch a bottle of chilled beers in their hands. 

You're surprised that they haven't noticed the way the Felix is outright scowling at them. Though, you're sure that Venetia has grown accustomed to his displeasure with the way that he's been openly upset about her infatuation towards his friend. He's been uncomfortably overprotective of Edward this summer, though you suppose that you can't blame for it, considering that Eddie has been outright ignoring Felix in the favor of loving on Venetia during his entire stay. 

And you too, can't deny that you too have been a little disgusted with the blatant flirting that has been near constantly exchanged between Venetia and the newest focus of her ever-shifting intrigue. You were just waiting for the fall out once the wonder finally wears off and she finally discards of him the favor of something fresher and shinier. And she, much like her brother, will grow bored of him eventually. They both burn through people like they're dolls and trinkets. 

The two of them nearly go sprawling in the grass from Venetia knocking Edward onto the wrinkled picnic blanket in a playful lunge and the both of them fall back with a burst of laughter, just narrowly avoiding spilling their drinks all over themselves. It would be sweet if it were genuine, but this was just a passing fancy for the girl. Not that you could fully blame her. As wonderous as the estate is, everything can get boring if you spend enough time in it, and you can't even remember the last time that she was able to sneak away from the grounds for longer than a week. You have to entertain yourself somehow. 

"Oh, come on, I'm nowhere near that bad with Farleigh, " you turn the page of your own book even though you've hardly paid it any attention. You're on page sixty-two and you still have no idea what the plot is. 

"That's because you aren't able to be, " he counters without an ounce of delicacy. " I think my only saving grace is that he hasn't noticed the way that you've been helplessly pining after him. Either that or he's just playing stupid. But I think if the two of you managed to get together it might actually do me in." 

You scoff to try and distract yourself from the prickle of shame and hurt that dances across your skin. You hope that Farleigh isn't just playing dumb. You hope that he hasn't noticed your feelings at all. If he has been pretending to not see the way that you've been harboring a crush for him over all of these years, then you might actually keel over the weight of the embarrassment alone. 

Even then, you can't fight the way that your eyes flicker up from the pages of your book to admire Farleigh as he floats along the pond. Taking in the way that the sunlight emphasizes the edges of his hair into a light bronze hue and sparkles along the droplets of water that decorate his skin like flecks of gold and pale, bright diamonds. Looking at the way that his happy trail traces down from his navel and vanishes underneath the band of his swim trunks. He hasn't noticed your staring and based on the way that his body seems to be completely lax, and his head is lolled back against the rounded edge of the floatie, he might have passed out from underneath the warmth of the balmy air. 

"Christ, you've got it bad, don't you, " Felix's voice says, breaking you from your horrid little trance like a gun shot. It wasn't a question at all, but a simple observation. You want to refute it regardless. To try and deny it, but the way that your heart flutters in your chest like some trapped, homesick bird makes you lose your half-baked argument. 

"Shut up," you snap dumbly. You drop your focus back down to the novel in your tightening grip and this time you do actually try to read it and make sense of the words lined up along the page. 

"Have you actually thought about talking to him?" 

"Excuse me?" Your head jerks up and you pin him with an incredulous glare and for a moment you think that you might have misheard him. But he doesn't look intimated in the slightest. He just shrugs, careless and relaxed while your body bunches up nervously. 

"Farleigh," he reiterates, tone light and conversational. "Have you thought about talking to him about it?" 

You can't help the way that you're openly gawking at him now, staring like he's gone insane. "No!" You almost shout it out, and you flinch as soon as the word makes its way from your chest. The volume of it making you glance back over towards Farleigh to check and see if he's perked up at the sound of it and looked over to investigate, but you're relieved to see that he still seems to be in the clutches of a nap and completely (thankfully) oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet away from him. 

"Well, why not?" He asks. 

"Are you kidding me?" The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, devoid of a single ounce of joy or amusement. "And put the friendship that we've had for literal years at risk? No. Nope." 

"Oh, come on." Felix sighs, and that exasperation that had tinged his voice before is back. He lets his head fall back on the head rest of his lounger and he shifts to get more comfortable, taking another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep dealing with you. "You don't even know if it'll effect you badly. You're just letting your nerves get to you." 

'Well, I'm sorry that I don't want to let something like a stupid crush get in the way of my relationship with my best friend." 

" 'Crush,' " he repeats it like it's a foreign word, nodding his head slowly; clearly unconvinced and it has irritation skirting up your back. "Is that what you're calling now?" He scoffs. "I mean, honestly, the two of you are practically dating anyway. Just without any of the fun stuff." 

You visibly bristle at that. It was true that you and Farleigh are quite close and at times physically affectionate. Touching has never been something that neither of you had ever shied away from, but that didn't mean anything. That's what friends do. It's completely normal.

You can stop the scowl pulling at the corners of your mouth, not bothering to hide the weight of your clear vexation, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to back down from whatever this is. The sudden need to berate you and give you unsolicited relationship advice. And honestly, it's almost ironic, the fact that Felix Catton, the man who goes through women like they're tissue paper and is virtually allergic to healthy dating, is trying to get you to confess your feelings - your crush. That's exactly what this is. A crush. Just a simple, dumb crush. 

"I am not in love with him, if that's what you're implying," you say. And the look that he fixes you with unsettles you. It makes you harshly vulnerable and delicate with the gentle, almost pitying glimmer in both of his eyes. And the light but firm way that he speaks your name just drills those emotions in deeper, teetering you on the edge of confronting something that you aren't ready to face yet. The weight of it has you trying to swallow around your tongue which suddenly seem too thick and sticks to the roof your mouth. And all you know is that you need to switch gears before you're forced to finally notice something that you won't have the strength to handle and your eyes flicker around helplessly, searching for something to change topics. 

A light smile graces your lips when you land on Venetia and Edward. A part of you does feel bad for throwing her under the bus, but to be fair, her brother's exasperation won't be anything that she hasn't delt with before. 

"Besides, I don't think that my love affairs should be the one that you're worried about," and the nod of your chin has him looking back over to the pair who appeared as though they might be a few good moments away from making out. 

He sighs through his nose, stamping out the burning end of his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, all while he's mumbling something underneath his breath that's too low for you to hear. And then he's sitting up from the lounger with a small huff. " Let's go inside, yeah, " Felix calls, gathering their attention and making them scramble off of each other to focus on him. And you could see Edward's skin flush, most likely from embarrassment rather than the heat, no doubt feeling like a kid who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. "We can go get started on watching that film you wanted to see earlier. Which one was it?" 

You have to smirk when Venetia and Felix pin each other with brief but angry glares and Edward has definitely caught sight of them based on the awkward way that he seems to deflate from his place on the ground, like he wants to curl in on himself and vanish. Poor guy. 

"Eh, Anchorman, I think it was," he responds with an unconvincing smile and Felix does his best to return it, though his is much more relaxed and less strained. And then he's turning his focus to you as he shifts on his feet to walk back towards Edward. "Go get your lover boy, we'll see you both inside." 

You don't bother hiding the way that you flip him off, but he unfortunately looks completely delighted by the gesture, jogging away from you with a low laugh trailing after him as he heads towards his friend, slinging his arm around the shorter man's shoulder in a subtle way of dragging him from Venetia's side. And the perturbed sneer that she sends him doesn't dull his grin either. What a complete bastard. 

You watch as the three of them head around the bend of the pond towards one of the rear entrances of the castle as you hop up from your place on the chaise, making sure to dog-ear the corner of one of the pages before you snap the book closed. Even though you plop it on the lounger and you're sure that you won't even finish reading it. Not this summer, at least.  But you don't dwell on that for long before your attention flits over to the pond, and you start of towards the glittering water, padding across the soft grass until the bare soles of your feet meet the aged boards of the dock. 

Your focus immediately zeros in on Farleigh who still appears to be asleep, or at the very least dozing off, but it is difficult to tell by the Burberry sunglasses propped on the bridge of his nose and obscuring his eyes from your view. He looks entirely relaxed like this. Practically lazing upon the puffed up cherry red plastic with his head tilted on his neck, chin nudged up against his shoulder. And when a gentle, buttery breeze pours across the face of the pond, perfumed with the scent of summer flowers and fresh cut grass from when the gardeners had trimmed the lawn earlier this morning, it has his floatie rotating over the water. From this angle you can see the closed delicate curl of his eye lashes peeking out from the cover of his shades, and that paired with the steady, measured breathes expanding his chest confirms that he is indeed asleep. 

Damn, he looks so peaceful. You really don't want to wake him up yet . . . 

You suppose that you don't have to. Not right this second at least. You lower yourself at the edge of the dock, letting your legs slip over the edge and your feet dip past the layer of lily pads and into the cool, crisp water underneath, supporting your weight on the palms of your hands. And you just sit, basking underneath the warmth of the sun, which for the first time for this entire week feels soothing instead of scalding. Probably because you've been spending the past thirty minutes underneath the cover of an umbrella and the real scope of its heat has yet to sink into your skin yet. But for now, you're just able to relax and enjoy it. Savoring the sound of the syrupy breeze shifting through the trees and whispering over the leaves, and the enthused trill of some bird singing in the distance. The silence is nice now that Venetia and Edward are gone and are no longer here to chase off the peace with their squawking and laughter. 

But maybe you're just being bitter and jealous. 

Jealous. Jealous of what exactly? 

The acidic, harsh feeling stirring in your gut eats away at the tranquility that had just nettled around you, tearing it from you like the warmth of a blanket being pried from your skin and it leaves you reeling. Like you've been left bare and exposed. You don't have anything to be envious of. It has you struggling with your own emotions; they're completely foreign and unrecognizable. Sharp and pungent like a lime. And that all-knowing, perceptive part of you rises up from the fringes of your mind, and you suddenly do know why you're jealous. Of why watching them playfully insult each other and openly flirt had left something bitter in your mouth and a hollow pit tearing at your chest. 

It's because a big, burning piece of you wishes that you could be that open and unabashed with Far- 

Ugh, God, not right now. Please, not right now. 

But even with you trying to explicitly ignore the welling of emotions rising up within you; shoving them to the side and burrowing them down deep, you can't fully fight of the aftermath of them. The sensation almost akin to nausea that remains in its wake. Like you've taken one too many shots of vodka back-to-back. 

"Farleigh," you say suddenly. And for a moment you haven't even caught up with the fact that you've said it. You clear your throat once you realize, sucking in a deep breath to collect yourself. You look downward, eyes roving over him to see that he hasn't heard you call for him. That he's still sound asleep and for some reason it soothes you to know that he hadn't picked up the sound of his name from the dredges of his unconsciousness. But now that the peace that you felt before has been effectively shattered by your own internal struggles you can't really bear the idea of just sitting out here to stew within your own mental hellscape, and it has you leaning forward towards Farleigh, who has drifted closer to you thanks to the brush of the light wind. 

"Farleigh," you call, but with time there's much more intent behind it, even from within the gentle hold of your voice. 

He doesn't so much as move an inch. The breathes making his abdomen rise and fall remain soft and calm, undisturbed from his nap. You shuffle closer on the edge of the dock, and the front of your legs brush against the rounded edge of his floatie and you can feel the seam of the plastic press against your skin. 

"Farleigh," you try again, much firmer and this time it seems that he does hear you. He sucks in a deep inhale, and a grumpy, low groan follows closely behind. Clearly upset to have been roused from sleep, but instead your body outright thrums at the raspy sound. Prickling with an embarrassing heat and you try to focus on the cold water soaking your feet as a distraction. 

"And just why are you waking me up?" He grouses, shifting on his floatie as best as he can to stretch his back, rolling his head on his shoulders to peer at you from over the rim of his shades, squinting a little underneath the unforgiving shine of the sunlight. But 'peer' might be too soft of a word. Glare was more accurate, even though there wasn't much bite behind it. It was more playful if anything. Purely impish and good-spirited. 

"Everyone's headed inside. They're waiting for us." You reply, swirling your feet along the water, watching it shimmer around your skin. 

"And that requires my presence because . . ?" He lets the question hang open in the air, and you smile at the little bit of snark seeping through his tone. 

"I suppose it doesn't. But your cousin is struggling to keep Venetia and Edward from jumping down each other's throats, and I think he could use all of the help that he can get." 

He just hums, idly tapping his fingertips across the plastic, disrupting some of the droplets of water that have sprinkled it, sending them down to slip into the face of the pond. "You know I'm not one to cockblock," he says, making amusement puff from your chest. "If they want to fuck then let them." 

You have to laugh at his bluntness. He's always been so candid and plain-spoken, often to the determent of others. And despite how sharp tongued and often downright rude he could be to those who he doesn't inherently gravitate towards or find a kinship with, it's always been one of your favorite attributes of his. "While I share your sentiment, Felix said that if one of us manages to hook up that it might actually 'do him in.' "

"What a drama queen," he scoffs, and you hum in response. But then he's pausing, tilting his head down to fully make contact without his sunglasses entirely blocking his view. "What do you mean 'one of us'?" 

It makes your stomach drop a bit. Like you've doused with a bucket of ice even though there's sweat dampening your skin and the sun is beating down on your scalp from above. "Did I say that?" You speak casually. Or you try to sound that way at least, but your voice isn't smooth enough. There's something almost shaky about that even you can pick up, and a part of you hopes that you're just being too self-conscious. That he hadn't noticed the mild tremor that taints your inflection. 

"You did, " he assures quickly. 

"Slip of the tongue." You shrug, doing your best to act normal but you feel too aware of your own limbs and the fluttering in your chest. For a fleeting moment he just stares at you. And in truth you know that in real time it was only for a few scant seconds, but in your mind, it felt as though he was staring at you for hours. Scrutinizing you and searching for something. His eyes gazing into yours like he's trying to find an answer that you won't verbally give. And you have to say something, literally anything to ease the tension. "Are you going to go be a cockblock with me, or do I have to go suffer alone?" 

A smile perks at the corners of his lips. "Oh, I don't know." You can hear the teasing lilt in his voice, and he shuffles his hips in further within the ring of the floatie like he's getting more comfortable, making the water cradled within the divot between his lower stomach and thighs splash a little. "I'm enjoying my time out here." 

"Come on!" You groan with exaggerated chagrin. "What? Do you want me to beg?" 

You can the delight flare in his eyes; full of mischief and it has that sugary, buzzing warmth dipping back over your body and seeping into your bones. 

"I mean, I wouldn't be opposed," his eyebrows briefly perk up and he tilts his head with a playful smirk. It's awful. Because as disgruntled as you're pretending to be, you would actually get down on your knees and beg him if he actually pressed you about it, as shameless as you are. But fortunately, you're able cling on to your shredded sense of pride because you don't pull yourself from your seated position and kneel. Instead, you're fixing him with a stare of your own and for a minute it feels like you're both challenging each other, with something intangible but heavy and vinous passing over you. And you do lean towards him just a bit, or as best as you can with the height between the dock and the pond keeping you apart. But even with the distance, this strange tension doesn't break, if anything it seems to build. 

"Please," you nearly coo, tone dipping down into something low and soft. "Please, Far." 

His mouth slightly parts when he draws in an inhale, and you swear he nearly takes the plush of his bottom lip in between his teeth and you can tell that his eyes are roving over your face. The dark bronze shade of his irises skipping over each of your individual features. And you think that you see his eyes drop down to your breasts where they're held from the material of your bikini top. It makes you feel as though you're being studied. But it isn't invasive or uncomfortable. It feels so much more intimate than that. It feels more like admiration. It's a look from him that you've caught in the past here and there, but you've never fully been able to place it until now. And you tell yourself that you're just imagining the cherishing quality to his gaze. That you're just projecting your own feelings into the moment. It sobers you up somewhat, and you pull back, straightening your spine to create some distance, hoping that it'll clear your head. 

The huffed sort of laugh that he lets out is almost awkward, somewhat strained and the smile that perks at the corner of his mouth nearly looks forced. 

"You know that I can only survive them for so long when they get like this" you say, desperate to disrupt the weird energy that has taken over the air. "Please," you bat your eyelashes, coquette and dramatic and jesting to dispel the remaining bits of self-consciousness. 

" All right," he concedes. And then he lets the back of his head flop back on the floatie. "Just give me a minute. They're going to be unbearable." 

You both chuckle at that before a nice silence falls back over the pond, and you're back to listening to the gentle sounds of nature chiming around you. And there aren't any expectations hanging on your shoulders or the responsibilities of your life back in the States looming over you anymore. It's just peace and quiet.  And honestly, as bad as it sounds, as spoiled as it may be, that's what Saltburn has always been for you; not some weak attempt at make believe, or a game to try and pretend to be one of the one percent; it has always just been a break. A brief reprieve from the constant stress and the dog eats dog mentality of real life. But truthfully. You weren't here for all of that either. You were here for a someone. A very certain someone and not all of the champagne and parties and frivolous display of wealth that the Catton's constantly show.  

You feel something brush against the outside of your leg and glance downward has you taking in the sight of Farleigh who has rotated towards you by the guide of the water. His head is settled near the edge of the floatie, close enough for his hair and forehead to graze your skin and his eyes have closed again. And you can't fight the fuzzy, peachy sensation that takes root inside of you. Something that you easily recognize as pure fondness. 

"Did you have any good dreams?" You ask, tilting your head on your shoulder, trying to make simple conversation to hide away from the weight of your own endearment. His eyes flutter back open, immediately landing on you and you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze from your place above on the dock. 

He hums again, soft and a little gravely, and you can tell by the way that he nuzzles against your leg that he's still only half-awake, nosing along your skin, still caught within the web of that soft, velvet grip of sleep. "Yeah, I did, " he answers with an almost dopey grin on his face while he watches you. And for a moment, as masochistic and sick as it may be, you pretend that he feels for you the same way that you feel for him. That he too is constantly being consumed by want and desire and lov . . . Devotion. 

"Tell me about it," you say. 

It's almost as though a flip is switched. That hazy, clouded look in his eyes clear and his muscles become rigid, no longer relaxed and lounging. He's reaching to grip the edge of the dock, taking ahold of the last board, right next to your knee. It has you scrambling to rise up to your feet, trying to assist him onto solid ground, but by the time you're up on your feet he's already pulled himself up from the floatie and onto the front of his legs. And once you're standing, so is he. Your eyes meet for a moment, and one of those unexplainable, odd impressions trickle over you both, and you can tell by the unsure look on his face that he feels it too. You want to speak. To say anything - what, you aren't entirely sure, but then he's speaking, filling the void and saving you both from the awkwardness. 

"Shall we go inside?" He offers, already moving past you towards where the dock meets the grass, but he looks back over his shoulder at you with a smile on his face. "I'll race you there. " 

That's the only warning you get before he's setting off into a run, using the distance that he had already created between the both of you to give himself a head start. 

"Farleigh!" You call, mirth and disbelief melding through you as he bounds off around the pond in the direction of the castle. You push yourself in a sprint, set on trying to win even though a part of you already knows that he's got you beat. And sure, enough by the time you're dashing up the steps of the back entrance he's already disappearing into the threshold. And when you meet him in the house, already a little winded from the quick run, you can't help but to playfully shove him, desperate to restore a sense of normalcy with that little bit of awkwardness still tinting your dynamic. He does give you a smile, snickering underneath his breath before you both part your ways without an exchange of words. You take your time in in the bath, washing off the pond water and sweat without hurry; entirely thankful for the break from whatever that was. But all too soon you've changed into more comfortable clothes and are walking into the library where the TV has been set up. The chatter and noise that clamors within the room is uninhibited and Venetia and Edward are piled up together on one of the couches, leaning into each other while they watch the movie playing on the screen, like they're caught up in their own little world, entirely ignorant to the happenings ensuing outside of their bubble. 

Your eyes scan over the room, noticing Felix who's settled on the floor with a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers while a heavy scowl mars his features. And it's a knee jerk reaction to want to go over and try to soothe him as best as you can. But then you catch sight of Farleigh who's seated on the other coach, leaning against the far end with his back to the arm rest like he's trying to get away from Venetia and Edward even though they're on an entirely different piece of furniture. 

He's spotted you too, if the pleading, disturbed look that's aimed directly at you is any indication. And as awful as it may be, it has you forgoing any urge to comfort Felix and moving over towards Farleigh. You plop yourself next to him on the sofa, shoulders brushing from underneath the fabric of your respective shirts. He curls towards you, moving so he could whisper conspiratorially into your ear. " I'm with Felix on this: If they start fucking on the couch, I'm killing myself." 

The laugh that leaves you is unbridled and free. It rises up before you realize it's leaving your chest, and you find yourself easily leaning into each other, like the strange air that had come over you both outside at the pond had never existed. "No, " you chuckle, breathing in the scent of the fresh laundry detergent on his clothes, lavender and vanilla, crisp and smooth. "You can't do that. We have to suffer together. I mean, they can't be that bad, can they?" 

And almost with a humorous sense of timing, Venetia leans forward to nip at the lobe of Edward's ear, her teeth briefly snag on the diamond earring pierced there and she all but coos at him while they giggle amongst themselves. And you can catch bits and pieces of their conversation from your place on the couch, fragments of "oh, Eddie," and playful but secretive "quit it's." God, they make you feel like some kind of sick voyeur. Not that you could be paid to watch this shit - Jesus, this is awful. 

You look up at Farleigh whose top lip has raised in naked revulsion while he watches the pair. And if it feels bad for you then it must be downright horrid for Felix and Farleigh being forced to endure. Venetia and her new toy aren't even watching the movie, far too caught up in their own affairs to pay attention to the movie that Edward wanted to see. 

"How about a game?" You blurt. 

The sudden sensation of everyone's focus on you makes you feel like you've been strapped to an operating table and flayed open for inspection, but the warmth of Farleigh's body heat seeping into your skin helps ground you somewhat. 

"What sort of game?" Felix asks, intrigued and no doubt thankful for the reprieve from Venetia and Edward's sickening flirting. 

"I don't know. Never Have I Ever?" You say with a shrug, grasping at straws. It's an admittedly somewhat juvenile game, one that you haven't played since you were at least a late teen, but at this point, you'll take any excuse to disrupt the pair from fully kissing in front of the three of you. "Break out the alcohol, we'll think of something." 

The five of you have curled up on the floor, situated between the space made from the gap where the TV and the couches are set, creating a somewhat odd sort of circle. Felix had long since made Edward go and raid the kitchen cabinets for liquor, and he had returned with a few bottles of booze clutched to his chest, whiskey and wine and brandy and vodka individually. And of course, Venetia had managed to tag along, returning with a few cans of Tango and Coca-Cola held in her own grasp, meant for chasers. As a collective, you were all quick to toss back a few rounds of alcohol. All in the attempt to loosen up. And you and Farleigh and Felix were unquestionably trying to get rid of the residual discomfort of bearing the horror of Venetia and Edward's blatant flirting.  

You were already feeling a bit tipsy with the buzz of a couple of shots fizzling at your fingertips and toes and making your head covered with a thin but pleasant haze. The past few rounds of Never Have I Ever had all passed by quickly, with all of you participating with your own stories and playfully being berated by laughter and comments. And the game had led to some startling revelations, like how one of the old servants had caught Felix when he had nearly lost his virginity during an old New Years party, or how Edward had disrupted his old cantina sometime during primary school by setting off a round of fireworks that he had lifted from his older brother, which had resulted in a few students getting first and second-degree burns. 

And the questions had dipped all over the spectrum, from the more lighthearted 'never have I ever stolen from a store' to somewhat heavier topics like 'never have I ever cheated on a partner' or 'witnessed a crime.' But despite the subtle morbidity of some of the questions they had helped in shifting the energy hanging over the room into something jovial and affable, with a near constant string of delighted howling and giggling bubbling up into the air. 

You and Farleigh had taken to reclining on the floor, using one of the sofas for back support with some of the decorative silk and cashmere couch pillows to cushion yourselves. Though for you, the pillows almost weren't necessary with how you've practically draped yourself across Farleigh. Settling your cheek against the stretch of his shoulder with your legs tangled with his own. But you don't feel too guilty over it considering that he's secured an arm around your waist, effectively keeping you pinned against his body while he uses the crown of your head to prop his chin up. 

It's a position that you've found yourself in a million times with Farleigh. The gravitation towards physical touch came naturally to the both of you, and as a result you always seem to make some form of contact with each other to some extent. It's been this way with him for as long as you could remember, and it was easy as breathing for the both of you. It's normal. Whether it be by walking side by side with your arms looped together or by sitting in his lap, you both wind up in each other's space somehow. But even with how common it is, the brush of his body against yours never fails to make that flutter in your chest stir up and run wild. It didn't help either, that you could smell his body wash still fresh on his skin from the bath that he had taken, musky and rich with notes of chamomile and amber. 

You do your best to focus past it and participate with the game and conversation flowing around you. Laughing at Felix's jokes or nodding and smiling at Edward and Venetia in response to their quips and witticisms. 

"Never have I ever gone streaking," Venetia says. 

"What a complete lie," Felix scoffs from her left, propping his elbows on both of his knees. "You literally striped down and went swimming in Arthur Lennon's pond." 

"That's skinny dipping, " Farleigh corrects. You can feel the tremor of his voice vibrating over your back from your place nestled against his chest. "Streaking is more public. Like running down a street. " 

"Oh, sorry for confusing the politics of public indecency, " Felix replies with a light glare furrowing his eyebrows. 

 You raise the bottle of alcohol to your lips but pause once the rounded glass brushes against your skin. "Does it count if you were only topless? And the street I was on was vacant." Thank God, for that too. You could vividly remember waking up the morning afterwards with that bitter, awful taste that comes with a hangover covering your mouth like a film and the memories of the previous night had nearly bulldozed you. The mortification and shame that came with them had been so unbearable that you hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol for a good month or two afterwards. 

"Wait. When was this?" Farleigh asks, and even though you can't see him from this angle you can tell that he's probably got that cute, confused scrunched up look on his face. 

"I told you about that, remember?" You roll your head back on his shoulder, shifting yourself to the side a bit so that you're able to actually look at him. Sure enough, his eyebrows have pinched, and his top lip has curled like he's trying to force the memory to come to the surface. "On Halloween a few years ago? Me and Amelia got shitfaced on Lemon Drops and Green Tea shots." 

His mouth parts and you can see the realization come back to him, like a light sparking and reflecting in his eyes. "Now I remember," he nods. "You sent me pictures. That was the year you dressed up as a slutty Hex Girl." 

You hummed lowly in confirmation, and take a swig from your bottle, forgoing the need to clarify on if your public display of nudity fit the criteria of 'streaking.' But then someone is snickering from across from you and a quick glance has it revealing that the sound came from Edward, who was smirking sharply over the rim of his cup. "She sent you pictures, huh? I'm sure you used those to have a good wank or two, didn't you Farleigh? So much for just 'friends,' am I right?" 

For whatever reason the comment has annoyance flaring inside of you. It feels unusually mean spirited, whether it was the particularly resentful tone that he had used or the petty glint in his gaze, you don't know, but it has an irritated heat prickling at your stomach. There's a subtle shift in the room too, barely noticeable but still skimming under the surface. It's touchy and thorny. 

"At least I have people sending me pictures to jerk off to," Farleigh sneers. It's an obvious sore spot for Edward and he shifts uncomfortably where he sits. It's never been a secret that he struggles a bit when it comes to love and even sex. There wasn't much of anything to draw in the attention of the opposite gender. He didn't have many prospects in life and overall, his personality isn't the most inviting. And as much as you often feel pity for him, he's usually insensitive and obtuse, and the jokes that he often tells are usually told with poor timing and a lack of a punchline. And it hardly helps his case that he's best friends with Felix who overshadows him with his generational wealth and modelesque looks. 

You suppose that's why he's started to cling to Venetia, with her being one of the first people to seek his attention out, even though a part of him has to be helplessly aware that she only uses him as means to pass the time. As a short, fleeting form of entertainment. But he's been hopelessly pining after her since the day that he arrived about a month ago. You suppose that the both of you have that in common. And you don't miss the way that Edward's eyes flicker over to Venetia, like he's waiting for her - silently pleading with her to defend him. But she doesn't do anything of the sort. She just takes a drag from her cigarette, tapping at the bits of the ash building at the burning end to shake them loose into her empty cup while her eyes scan over everyone, like she's enjoying the sudden spike of drama. 

"Anyway, who's turn is it?" Farleigh asks, tilting his head to lean it back up against you own. "I think it's yours, isn't it, Eddie? Try to pick a fun question. You are here out of pity anyway. The least you could do is be entertaining." 

"Farleigh, mate," Felix hisses, eyes glaring and reprimanding. "That's enough." 

"What? It's the truth," Farleigh says with a somewhat suppressed laugh. It has you leaning to the side again, gently nudging him with the point of your elbow. And as much as you're enjoy watching Edward get torn into, it really was only a small joke that he had made. A little bit condescending but it didn't necessarily warrant him getting bashed the entire night.  And when Farleigh glances at you, you can see something soften in his eyes, features molding into something that is reluctantly apologetic. Though you know that the little bit of repentance in his expression wasn't for Edward, at all. He sighs somewhat in a somewhat exasperated way, like not being able to pick on Felix's friend truly was the worst inconvenience. 

"No, it's all right," Edward clears his throat, gulping down mouthful of his beverage. "I might have deserved that a bit." 

Farleigh hums like he's agreeing with him, a low and thrumming ' mm-hmm, ' and you can hear the patronizing quality of it. Even while it's a little wrong, you struggle to fight off the smile forming at the edges of your mouth, and you try to hide it by taking another generous swig from your bottle. Hoping that the mild burn will serve as some sort of distraction, but it does little to dull the bit of amusement flaring inside of you. And the way that Farleigh huffs a few, small breaths of laughter into your hair doesn't help. It makes you feel like a couple of mean old gossips, but luckily no one else has noticed your shared mirth, with the three of them being too caught up in trying to revive the game. 

Edward's focus shifts around the room, unsteady and a little embarrassed but he's putting on a strained smile regardless, like he's trying to convince himself to be in a good mood. "Uh . . . well. Never have I ever had sex in a car."  

And after that the evening veered back on track. The little bit of animosity that had previously bled over you all had gradually dissipated until it was as though it had never been there in the first place. But even with the energy returning to its carefree and lax state, you couldn't fight off the bit of weariness that has begun to seep into your bones. The closer that the sun drifted towards the horizon the more weighted down your eyelids had become with the temptation of sleep, until soon the soft champagne hue that had been casted across the room from the windows had melted into something dim and lavender. Combined with almost an entire afternoon of swimming underneath the warmth of the summer air and the alcohol coursing through your veins you were extremely close to passing out on top of Farleigh. 

"All right, " you relent, speaking loud enough to be heard over everyone's voices and the volume of the second film of the day playing over the speakers. "I think it's time I turn in for the night." You begin pulling away from Farleigh's chest, shuffling onto your knees, making to pick yourself up from the floor as you sit your unfinished bottle a few inches away from you. 

"You're leaving?" He asks, allowing you to slip his arm from around your waist, though he keeps his hand on your thigh. 

"Yeah," you confirm, and there's the playful, scattered sound of protests from the other three sitting across from you. You just meet his questioning gaze with a soft look before you lean down to plant a soft goodbye kiss onto his cheek. "I'm just getting a little tired. I don't think I'll be able to keep up with all of you. Not tonight, at least." 

You stand up on your feet, feeling how his fingertips brush free from the skin of your leg, just above your sleep shorts and he lets his hand fall back onto his now vacant lap. You turn to give everyone a half-assed wave as you start to make your way out from the room, but not without throwing a quick, "have fun!" over your shoulder as you go. And the echoed calls of returned "goodnights!" follow you on your way out. 

And the entire way to your room, up the high winding staircase and down the twisting, turning hallways you had this awful, nauseating feeling in your stomach. For a moment you had feared that it was all the alcohol that you had drank. But you hadn't consumed nearly enough to have a bad reaction to it. And honestly, the queasiness burrowing at you was more of gut feeling - an intuitive one - rather a physical sensation. It hangs over you like a confusing, horrible cloud and it follows over you through your entire night routine. Making you feel oddly self-conscious while you brush your teeth and do your skincare. Once you're done you all put storm out of the bathroom, desperate to get away from your own reflection in the mirror. 

It's driving you absolutely crazy because you can't figure out just what it is. It also doesn't help that your brain keeps fliting back over to Edward's snide little joke from earlier. Replaying those words over and over again like some broken record. Repeatedly showing the image of how his features had twisted up in clear indignation and what may have been . . . envy. 

Envy over what, exactly?  

And you could remember the way that his eyes had flickered over you and Farleigh throughout the day. You figured that it had just been unintentional. That he hadn't meant it. But then he kept doing it over and over again. Something about a quality in his gaze had been awfully familiar, and as to where that familiarity came from you aren't sure. You can't place it. It leaves you completely bewildered and for a quick second some part of you dreads that idea that maybe he was jealous because he could have been secretly harboring feelings for you, or maybe even Farleigh this entire time. But that doesn't feel right either. That doesn't fit. 

You try to shrug off the constant humming rattling around in your mind, flopping back onto the plush cushion of your bed in the hopes that it'll soothe the disquiet running rampant within you, but it doesn't. Not even with the dark, velveteen breeze sweeping through your open window, carrying in the scent of the night helps to put it at ease. You try to funnel all of you attention onto small, tangible things. Like the distant singing of the crickets trilling outside in a gentle chorus or the distorted, aged shapes that you find within the old wooden ceiling above you. But neither does much to anchor you down. You aren't sure how long you just lay there for, trying to distract yourself as best as you can, but it's enough passage of time for that last remaining sliver of lavender casted in the horizon to officially melt into a dark black and for the final remnants of your alcohol induced buzz to officially drain from your body. And frustratingly, that initial desire to sleep that had saturated your limbs before has vanished. Fully replaced by what could only be described as a type of chaos and the alarming sense of being helplessly awake. It has you prickling with frustration. 

And a little scrap of your subconscious zones in on the that one word, 'familiar.' You had referred to the gleam in Edward's eyes as familiar, and it really was. Almost startingly so. It was almost affronted. Hurt. Like how he had looked when Farleigh had insulted him - defended himself, really . . . kind of - and he had turned to Venetia as though he had been waiting for her to do that same. And he had all but outright deflated when she hadn't. Like the hope inside of him had been singlehandedly snuffed out by her indifference. That little bit of yearning that he has to have for more. The wish that perhaps, she too would recognize that maybe she had developed feelings for him and would try and pursue something more. But he has to know that there was no way that would ever happen. That he was waiting on a pipe dream. That much like you, there wasn't ever going to be a real future with the people that you both long for. 

That simple train of thought pours over you like a metal pail full of frigid water. It shocks through your system, sobering you up and it has your mouth running dry. Jesus, are you going to end up like Edward? Helplessly latching onto the coat tails of a person who just sees you as a means to an end. But that wasn't right. Farleigh does care for you. And even with how brash and sarcastic he can often be, you know for a fact that he does covet your friendship. But that's just what it is, isn't it? Just a friendship. 

Fear sparks inside of you. A worry that you'll end up like Edward. Bitter and resentful while you watch the person that you hold your affections for move on and live. That you'll be perpetually cursed to loom within Farleigh's shadow, watching from the place at his feet as he falls in and out of love, experiences heartbreak and infatuation. But one day he might meet someone who he doesn't break up with. Maybe he'll actually marry that person. Maybe he'll start a family with them too. And you can honestly admit to yourself that you aren't sure if you'll have the strength to sit in the pews of an old church and watch while he takes someone else hand, while he slips a ring onto their finger. It might actually gut you, completely bittersweet; pleasant and paradoxically regretful to watch him grow old with someone who isn't you. But you know that you'll just be there on the sidelines regardless because you're too scared to move on or admit to yourself that . . .

Admit what? 

You know what, some deep, unforgiving part of your subconscious whispers. 

An uncomfortable sense of gravity rises up over you, nudging you over to the edge of some daunting, profound precipice. Some deep chasm, that if you choose to take the plunge and dive in, you might not be able to crawl back out of. But if you're going to be honest with yourself now, then that endless, spiraling abyss has always been there, directly underneath your feet this entire time. And you've just been dangling yourself over it, precariously balancing yourself on shaky limbs with a blindfold willingly tied around your own eyes. 

But the bottomless pit underneath you isn't dark or cold or vicious. It's the complete opposite. It's inviting and warm and candied. It makes you want to give in to it. To just relent and stop fighting. To quit pretending to be so blissfully ignorant and to finally just tear the self-imposed blinders off and accept that burning, wanting part of yourself before it dies out and takes you along with it. Eventually the sweet longing inside of you will turn sour and twist into something marred and nasty; mutating into something diseased and festering and it'll infect you. Make you into someone distant and loveless. 

And that's what all of this has been about. All of this self-made torture and the prison that you had fashioned yourself out of fear and the dread of possible rejection, it's been because of love. You're in love with Farleigh Start. Always have been. Helplessly and pathetically in love. 

The acceptance of it is like breathing after suffocating. Like being caught up in a supernova and feeling the heat and cosmic light engulf you. It has an almost dopey smile taking over your face, and you can feel an elated laugh bubbling up in your chest. It has you scrambling up on your bed and sightlessly reaching for one of your pillows, desperate for something, anything to ground yourself while every facet of your being is swept up and drowned over with can only be described as pure exultation. 

But as absolutely free as you feel, you know that it's only temporary. The sense of peace and bliss that taken over you will only keep you afloat for so long and eventually you'll be dragged back down to the dredges again. Pulled in deep while you watch Farleigh from the murk and dark. You'll only be able to live off of his friendship for so long before you all but starve, drinking up the scraps of his affection like it's sacrosanct. But that type of survival doesn't promise forever and eventually your devotion will catch up with you and eat you alive once you fail to feed it with something more substantial. Something real and returned. 

And that. That terrifies you. But there's a way out. Maybe if you can't have Farleigh - if he doesn't want you like you want him, then you'll just have to learn to live without him. 

But a little bit of hope bleeds through you like a second heartbeat. Low and fragile, but alive and steadily pulsing, accompanied by Felix's words from earlier. The faint echo telling you that you don't even know what the outcome may be. That the prospect of rejection isn't absolute. The reminder of it is enough to have you eyeing the door to your room and contemplating on slipping outside and searching for Farleigh. But even then, that trepidation is so great, hulking and dipping over you like a layer of ice, sinking into you like a set of frigid, steel talons. 

You flop forward on your bed, going face first into the mattress while defeat sags at your shoulders and gnaws on you from the inside out. You groan out loudly, an exasperated, weary sound that claws up from your lungs with a ragged huff, in an amalgamation of a tired laugh and a dry sob follows after it. But despite how utterly lost you feel, one thing that you know for certain is that you're going to have to confront whatever this is. You're going to have to confront Farleigh.

You prop yourself up with your hands, once again looking over to your door warily while you try to get a grip on the deluge of emotions swirling around in your head and chest. You try to latch onto anything, searching for that little bit of hope that you had felt earlier. Weakly tethering yourself down while you guide your whirling consciousness into something still and motionless.  Your grip on your emotions is shaky, held with a delicate but determined hold and it's enough to have you slipping out of the comfort of your bed despite the nausea bubbling in your stomach. 

You cross the floor in a hurry, trying to outrun yourself and your insecurities before they can get to you. It has you twisting the doorknob sharpy and shoving the door to your room open, making it creek on its hinges in a dull, weary cry. It has you cringing and peering down the hall like you're expecting to see someone. Fearful that one of the servants might materialize out of the shadows and pin you down with a judgmental glare. 

Once you're officially outside of the security of your quarters a sense of relief blooms. Small and light, but there. And it makes you feel that much more confident in confronting the single thing that has haunted your dreams for years. 

The door clicks shut behind you with a sense of finality and it's enough to get you moving. You steel yourself with a long inhale, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat before you head off down the hall in the direction of Farleigh's room. And suddenly a single step feels like a thousand. You know that it must be a trick. Made from your mind or the oily cast of the lamps that are fixed to and lined down the walls but it's as though the corridor is expanding; stretching long and far until it feels as though you've been walking for an hour and not a few minutes. It's dangerous. It gives you too much time to second guess yourself and you find yourself glancing back over your shoulder and towards the direction of your room more than once. But when you turn back around the face the hall, suddenly you're standing in front of Farleigh's door. And now something so ordinary and rudimentary seems so daunting. It's like being in the presence of Goliath. The panel of glazed wood blocks a threshold that you've passed through a number of times, but never has it felt as nerve-wracking as it does now. 

Your heart is heavy inside your chest, like stone and yet it's beating so quickly. It almost makes you feel pathetic and small. God, you're a grown as woman and something as simple as a confession of feelings is making you so unsecure and astray. It's more of a kneejerk reaction when your hand raises to knock against Farleigh's door and you nearly cringe when the sharp, repetitive rap cracks out across the hallway. It almost sounds like a gunshot, but then again, your mind is probably amplifying the sound from all of your anxiety. 

For a moment you wished that he wasn't even in his room yet. That maybe he's still downstairs in the library, drinking and partying with the others and that you can just return to your room and pretend that this never happened. 

"Yeah?" His voice calls out, muffled and distant from behind the shield of the door. 

"Fuck," you hiss under your breath quietly. You bite at your bottom lip nervously while you try and fight off the barrage of anxious butterflies that go off in your stomach. Maybe if you slip away now, he won't even notice. The old walls and bones of Saltburn are constantly shifting and creating noise. Groaning in its old age while drafts and pipes creak. It also isn't uncommon to hear mice and servants silently rustling down the corridors at all hours of the night, slipping around the shadows and corners like phantoms. Farleigh probably wouldn't think anything of it if you ran back to your room before he could catch sight of you. The knock at his door would just be another bump in the night. 

No. 

No. 

You aren't doing that. You owe this to yourself. And to him. 

"It's me!" You shout before you can officially convince yourself to turn tail and flee. And it isn't long before a hushed, "come in!" greets you through the door, prompting you to clasp the doorknob and twist. When you enter his room, your eyes immediately zone in on him from his place on his bed where he's sitting up in a crisscross fashion with his laptop open in front of him. It relieves you to know that you didn't wake him up at the very least, but the expectant look in his gaze is quick to snuff out any sense of solace with a quickness; unpleasantly reminding you as to why you're even here. 

"What's up?" He asks. But even the sound of his voice, something that you usually react positively to, it doesn't help you function. Your words are lodged in your throat and suddenly everything is too real. And it clicks into place harshly, that you're here. You're actually going to do this. God, you don't think that you can breathe, it's as though all of the oxygen has been stolen from the room and it makes it difficult to even think. You want to be delicate about this. To try and have some tact, but now that you're in his room, you don't even know where to begin. There's no plan or angle of approach. You're completely lost and you're floundering underneath the pressure, and you're so caught up within your own turmoil that you don't even realize that you've just been standing dumbly in the center of his room. 

"Are . . . you okay?" He says slowly, closing the screen of his laptop and sitting it on the edge of the bed. His eyebrows perk up and he scans over you from his place across the room like he's searching for the source of your apparent discomfort. 

It's too warm in here. Too stuffy with the summer humidity that the breeze from the open widow has yet to drive out. It makes it difficult to focus on anything. And then all of your thoughts are clamoring. Crowding within your skull with the chaos and sharpness of plates breaking, of cymbals clanging together, of a million people all shouting as a collective. Just say it. Say it! Jesus sweet fuck, just say it! 

"I'm in love with you!" 

You just blurt it. Spitting it out into the universe without fully registering that you have. It isn't until you notice the absolute shock shifting into Farleigh's expression that you understand that you had just thoughtlessly confessed. His lip's part, dropping open with what can only be bewilderment. And you know that you've completely blindsided him. Hell, you've blindsided yourself. The gravity of what you've done settles deep into your bones and threatens to buckle your knees. The deafening silence that falls over the room is worse than if he would just laugh at you. And for a moment you wish that he would just say something. Make a joke or try and brush it off, but he doesn't. He just continues to stare at you like you're a complete stranger, leaving you to struggle and trying to cope with the new trajectory of your reality. That you have just completely altered your entire relationship with Farleigh forever. Nearly a decade of friendship gone. Obliterated and tossed aside all because of your feelings. 

"I have to go, " you mumble, more so to yourself than to him. You twist on the balls of your feet, rushing towards the door like the walls of his room are closing in and might crush you. And the entire time you're already planning your escape. Thinking about how the first thing that you're going to do once you get back to your quarters is pull out your computer and look up the cheapest and earliest flight back to America. And all you can do is hope that everyone else won't ask to many questions about your sudden departure back home. 

But as soon as you start to twist the brass knob and the door begins to slip open from the threshold a hand comes out from behind you and shoves it closed with a heavy slam. You almost flinch at the jarring nature of the sound. 

"Wait," he says. Firm and somewhat breathless. You're very aware of his presence standing behind your back with the pleasant, buttery heat of his body brushing against you. "Jesus, you can't just drop something like that on someone and then just leave."

Guilt takes root at those words, and it has you squeezing the doorknob in your hand to try and build some semblance of resolve. "I'm sorry, " you gasp, staring straight ahead at the paneling in the door. 

"Can you look at me?" He asks.

You immediately shake your head. "No. No, I don't think I can," you answer truthfully. You really don't think that you'll be able to meet his eyes right now. It might actually tear you apart. 

"Please. Please, just look at me." His voice is soft. Probably the softest you've ever heard it and almost pains you to hear it this way. It makes you want to crumble. To lean into him and soak in the feel of him. You can't resist the urge to obey his need despite the discomfort rippling throughout your entire nervous system. You find yourself turning, leaning yourself up against the door for some stability as you rotate on your feet until you're fully facing him. Even then, you can't meet the weight of his stare. You won't. Instead, you focus on the fabric covering his chest. It's one of those quote shirts he wears every now and again, and you find yourself studying the lettering on it with a rapt fascination, as forced as it is. Tracing the words with your eyes. 'You Wish' the tee declares in a bold, bright yellow font. Just a playful, sarcastic statement. One that's pretty in theme with all of the other text form shirts that he can be seen wearing, and on any other day it wouldn't have gotten any other response out of you other than some mild amusement. But here and now, in this specific moment, the statement feels so oddly and coincidentally personal, an omen of sorts. Like the universe is waving up some bizarre warning, an you could laugh if you weren't so on edge. 

You hear him say your name. Low and gentle. His hand raises until the curled cusp of his fingertips are nudging underneath the point of your chin, delicately influencing you to look at him. The movement is unhurried and light, giving you ample time to pull your face from his hold if you wanted to, but you don't. You let him direct you until your eyes are meeting his in an unsure gaze. 

And it's startling, the vulnerable and stunned expression on his features. But paradoxically, it's also almost a relief, to know that the shock riddling your body and mind is shared. That you aren't the only one who's completely lost and struggling. It comes with a sense of guilt, too. Stinging and unforgiving. You fight to forgive yourself to know that you're the one who's completely knocked him off kilter. You want to soothe that little bit of confusion wavering in his gaze. To try and right the dazed sort of panic that's choked the air. 

"I'm . . . in love you," you repeat, swallowing around the tightness of your throat and luckily, you're able to speak with a bit more conviction. And once you get it out, it's like a dam has broken. Fracturing down the middle before it gives, cracking and tearing apart from underneath the frothing weight and turmoil slamming up against the damaged concrete. "I love you. I think I always have, but it finally caught up with me and I had to say something about it, and I'm sorry if this has fucked up what we have - " you're outright rambling now. Caught up within the slew of your own emotions. Honestly, you're too scared to stop speaking; terrified of what may come after with the silence. But it also keeps you from focusing on Farleigh, the sound of his voice seems too distant, like it's miles away, but you just barely catch onto a bit of calming words, the way that he tries to reassure you with your name and a soft "it's okay." 

"No!" You almost shout it, looking at him with something fervent and afraid. "It's not! Because when I'm around you, there are times where it feels like I can't even breathe-" 

"Hey, it's all right, " he tries to soothe you. And you can feel him gripping your forearms, rubbing sweeping circles against your skin with the swipe of his thumbs, trying to coax you from your thoughts. It doesn't pull you from their hold completely, but you can feel your body responding regardless, going lax and a little pliant underneath the warmth of his palms. "It's okay." 

But it isn't. None of this is. You've completely ruined it. Everything. 

"I love you." 

Except it wasn't your voice that said it this time. It was his. 

It all pauses. Like the world has simultaneously gone still, shifting into something hushed and private, like every individual life on the planet has put their priorities on hold to suck in their breath and wait. For a moment, it's like you and Farleigh are the only two beings left alive. Held within a small pocket of time around the walls of his room. It's only the gossamer breeze rolling in through his window; perfumed with the velvet fragrance of summer blossoms and a distant petrichor that reminds you that the earth is still rotating in its orbit around the sun. 

He said it with so much conviction, but even then, you could pick up the worry fraying the edges of his words. Like he's waiting for a pen to drop. Like something is going to break. 

"What?" You almost gasp. 

A smile perks at his lips and you can see something relaxed melt back into his posture which had turned rigid during your panicked babbling. "I guess I should be relieved. I was always worried that I was being too obvious." 

A breathless sound leaves your chest, both a sigh of release and a joyful laugh, all bubbling and soft. You shake your head minutely, a gesture made from disbelief rather than refusal or frustration. "I don't . . . Why didn't you say anything?" 

Farleigh steps a little closer to you, reminding you that you're fixed between him and the door, but it isn't suffocating. It's pleasant. Comforting. You find yourself leaning towards him, your body seeking out the presence of his own in a subconscious pull; like how the moon affects the tides.  

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies with a low laugh melting through his tone. 

Your body suddenly feel weightless, like the gravity keeping you pinned down to the world has vanished and left you floating. You tip on your feet, leaning into Farleigh's chest easily. His scent surrounds you. Billowing over you with notes of something buttery and earthy and subtly sweet; creamy. And he moves closer towards you until his face is nosing against your head and his hands come to cradle your waist. You've been here a thousand times. Held just like this in his arms before. It's familiar. It feels like safety. Like home. But there's something decidedly different now too. An element that you've never felt before. It's new. But not uncomfortably so. It's nice. It's warm and accepting but simmering; driven by a sort of hunger. 

You aren't sure who makes the move first. Suddenly both of your faces are angled towards each other, the tips of your noses brushing. You can feel the heft of his gaze when it meets your own. Your eyes transfixed upon the others like they're being guided by some invisible string, a magnetic pull. So many different emotions are passed through the exchanged stare. Something asking and delicate but also wholly wanting. It's all-consuming and fizzling at your skin, prickling like hungry, coveting teeth. 

Your body thrums, blood singing when you feel the brush of his lips over yours. But he doesn't go any further than that, and you can feel that heat of him hovering over your skin. There's a question in his eyes, bright and burning and it leaves you feeling a little bit breathless; a little drunk. You want to answer but you can't bring yourself to speak. The words are stuck inside your chest, left useless and idle in your lungs in the form of shapeless air. But he must see the answer in your own eyes. Just as strong as his own desire because suddenly his lips are molded against yours, soft and plush with an ardent type of need.  

You moan into it, and in his enthusiasm, he shoves you back against the door, but you're too swept up the sensation and emotion of it all to even register the dull throb in the back of your skull. Instead, syphoning every bit of your being into pouring your attention onto him. Soaking in the press of his body against you own, the subtle nip of his teeth against your lips and the low sound of his pleased, rumbling sighs. You can't manage to pull yourself away from him. Entirely focused on learning the shape of him through the layer of his clothes, running your hands across his hips and chest like you're mapping him out. He's got you pinned to him by his palms on your upper waist and the back of your neck, securing you to his chest like he's worried you might vanish. 

It's zealous and a little desperate, but it isn't inherently rushed. Neither of you are fueled by the sort of urgency that comes with a time crunch or the expectations of meeting some inexistent due date, it's more like you're both trying to make up for lost time. Moving against each other like you couldn't manage to be apart. 

It has you slipping a hand underneath his shirt, unable to ignore the need to feel his skin underneath you, even if it's in such a small way. He gasps against your mouth at the tepid sweep of your fingertips running over his ribs, nearly holding his breath once they travel up his chest. You jerk against him, body running hot at the almost whiny moan that rises up from his lungs in a sharp rasp. And when you both sway back against each other, you're the one who winds up gasping into him when the feel of him, heavy and rigid grinds on along your front through the barrier of your respective clothing. 

You consider teasing him over it. Of making a joke over the fact that he's already hard because of a little making out, but the steady throbbing from between your legs keeps you from doing so. You're sure that if you were to slip your own fingers into your heat that they'd come up wet. 

Suddenly he's backstepping away from the door, pulling you along with him by the cradle of his arms. You don't separate from each other for a single moment, too caught up in the drag of his lips, and you nearly go breathless when he licks into your mouth. You blindly follow his sightless lead, trusting that you'll both successfully reach your destination - the bed probably, and you nearly trip on the borderline of the center rug in your blind shuffle across the floor. If it wasn't for Farleigh's hold on you, you definitely would have fallen and busted your ass in an embarrassing, clumsy heap. 

He's slipping his hands underneath your shirt, rucking the material up your body when the backs of his knees hit against the edge of his mattress. As your body follows his downward, he uses it as leverage to slip the article of clothing free from your torso and carelessly flings it somewhere across the room. You don't think that he was expecting you to be braless based on the way that his attention dips down to your chest, scanning over the swell of each breast and the rigid bud of your nipples with a rapt sort of fascination. 

"Fuck," he whispers lowly, watching as you shift to settle your legs around his waist. And you can't contain the pleased chuckle that leaves you as you lower yourself over him to reconnect your lips, rekindling the fervent kissing that had transfixed you both before. You brush your tongue over the plush swell of his mouth, silently asking for permission and he gives it with a heady moan, parting his jaw to let you taste him. Caught under the spell of your need you haven't even noticed that you've both started to hump against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Seeking out the pleasure of each other's bodies in any way that you can get it. 

"Farleigh," you keen suddenly. God, you can feel him, the head of his cock nudging against the slick, sensitive nerves of your clit through his boxers and the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. It's already so good. And you chase after it while you continue to nibble and pull at each other's lips, steadily churning your waist in deep, sweeping grinds against the hard shape of him. 

His hands are traveling again, moving from your ribs and upwards until he's taking your nipples between his fingertips, rolling and plucking at them until you're panting. You pull back just enough to look at him, ignoring the way that he whines, airy and pitchy, so that you can admire him. Marveling at the lustful, clouded over sheen in his eyes, how they shimmer, dark like melted amber and bronze underneath the buttery, golden glow of the lamp. His lips are parted, a little puffy and glimmering with all of your kissing, releasing deep, labored breaths from his chest while he gazes at you. 

God, he really is gorgeous like this. It isn't fair. 

You settle one of your palms on his sternum, making sure to shift yourself to bear most of your weight on the balls of your feet and the muscle of your thighs so that you can drive powerful, teasing thrusts over the rigid swell of his cock. His mouth drops open a little bit more, eyebrows pinching close as something liquid and carnal drips over you both like melted sugar. You could make you both cum like this. If you just kept on with this steady, torturous pace that you've set. And it would feel so, so good. You know it would, with how that sinful burn is climbing deep with the apex of your thighs. But you can't. Not like this. You need to feel him. You need him inside of you. 

"Farleigh," you cry again, leaning over to breathlessly moan in his ear. "I need you. Please, please. Fuck me - " 

He's grabbing you by your ribs and flipping your places in a disorienting blur, slipping a hand underneath one of your knees to spread you open around the circumference of his waist. He dips his face underneath your jaw, sucking at the hallow of your bared throat with the hint of teeth and tongue before his voice sounds out in husky rasp, making you arch into the weight of his body above yours. "Is that what you want, baby? "He hums, a little low and somewhat condescending. "Need me to fuck you?" 

His knuckles brush over your abdomen, dragging around the band of your shorts in a teasing glide. You groan out in frustration, impatiently writhing in the hopes that it'll make him do something, but he just pulls back enough to stare down at you with a satisfied smirk. You don't hide the irritation in your expression, but your clear vexation doesn't do anything to dull his delight. You shuffle your hips, working to grind them in a heavy, agonizing swoops over his cock. And you feel a little surge of delight when you see that bit of arrogance in his eyes shift back into something eager and carnal, urging him one step closer to just giving in and taking you. 

"God, you're so fucking desperate," he mocks, but there's almost a kind of wonder in his voice too. You find yourself preening underneath the tiny little shred of awe, nodding in agreement, well past the point of trying to cling onto your pride. Not after wishing and waiting for so long to be in this exact position. You'll have plenty of time to knock him down a few pegs later. As of right now, you just want him inside of you. He chuckles lightly at your desperation, nosing along your cheek like he might kiss you, though he stays far enough away to keep you from being able to join your lips with his.

"Stop teasing me, please, " you gasp, peering up at him from underneath your lashes, hoping that you're conveying all of that searing, devouring want that's clawing up inside of you and threatens to consume you, bones, flesh, body and soul. You don't even have the mind to acknowledge the blow to your pride that you're taking. How pathetic that you've become from nothing but his touch alone. And it must work, because something in his expression breaks, crumbling away until he looks as dazed and starved as you feel. 

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He promises and straightens himself, removing his own shirt and discarding it somewhere on the floor before he's finally taking ahold of your shorts, ripping them down your legs and slipping them from around the heels of your feet. As soon as they're off of you, his mouth settles on the inside of your knee, hot and wet in its ascent up your thigh, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing the sting with the lave of his tongue and lips. The sensation has you sighing out into the humid, balmy air, reaching down with your fingers to grip onto his hair, trying to softly guide him back up and over you. But he's clearly in the mood to take his time, or maybe he's just determined to drive you up the wall. He plants a kiss on your mound, just above your dripping cunt and your body prickles and vibrates in anticipation, waiting for him split you open. To lick and take you into his mouth. 

Then something sweltering and wet runs up the expanse of your abdomen, leaving a chilled trail in its wake, and it isn't until Farleigh's head raises up from your chest that you realize that it had been his tongue dragging over your skin, tasting the fresh salt on your body. He continues to shift upward until his lips seal back over yours and he notches his hips above your own, dragging them down to rub against your clit in a wicked grind, making you whimper into his mouth. And you're ready to start begging again when some distant, tattered part of your mind registers that the feverish, silken warmth pressed up against you is the shape of his bare cock. 

You aren't sure when he had managed to slip his boxers off, but you don't bother dwelling on it for long, too focused on him to care. It has you keening and grabbing onto his shoulders, tossing your legs over his hips in the hopes of urging him to finally relent and give you both what you want. He grunts against your lips before he tilts his head back enough to look into your eyes, and you immediately recognize the glint that flickers within them, that silent question. It's all you can do to manage a simple nod, whispering 'please' over and over in a broken, windless request. 

And then you feel him, thick and warm slipping against the entrance of your cunt. He doesn't glance away from you for a single moment, attention fastened to you like he's gauging your reaction. The whine that's pushed from your lungs is one of pure elation from the way that you're stretched around the length of his cock, eyes nearly going cross as he works in every inch. It admittedly has been a little while since you've last had sex, and the girth of him nearly burns while it buries in deep, but it's not enough for you to ask him to stop. It actually feels gratifying. Giving you a pleasant ache that has you feeling full. And the ragged moan that he releases makes you all the more worked up, pussy clenching tight around him, making his face twitch in a way that almost looks wounded. 

He just grinds against you without pulling out, rocking his pelvis on you like he's struggling to keep still, trapping the buzzing nerves of your clit between the shifting press of his groin. "Baby," he warns, voice thin and a little shaky. "I don't know how long I can hold back." 

It takes you a moment for your scattered mind to even grasp onto what he's said, but once you do, you're able to gather that he's trying to let you adjust to him. To get used to the weight of him inside of you. While you appreciate the consideration, you have absolutely zero patience to wait any longer than necessary. It has you reaching up to take ahold of his face, pinning him with a stare that you hope is sufficient enough to telegraph what you want. What you need. "I don't want you to wait," you say with as much conviction as you can while he's balls deep inside of you. "I want you to fuck me." 

Something that looks like relief flows over his expression, and he drops all of his weight onto his arms, caging your head in between both of his elbows while he pulls his hips back from yours, slipping his cock from the slick of your cunt before plowing back into you with a thrust that steals all of the oxygen in your body. Pure white-hot ecstasy sizzles throughout your nerves and muscles, setting you alight with smoke and honey from the ardent pace that he's set. But despite the pleasure coursing through your body, your gaze is stuck on Farleigh the entire time. Captivated by the way that his face twists up in bliss, eyes fluttering and threatening to roll back; engrossed from the choked-up moans that pour from his mouth with each wild cant of his hips. 

"Oh God - fuck," he huffs, leaning into your touch while your caress his face with your thumbs, fingers smoothing over the shape of his jaw and cheekbones with complete adoration. And he allows you to guide his head downward for your lips to messily meet, moaning into each other, utterly uninhibited and shameless. He whines, brazen and lecherous when you take his tongue into your mouth to suck on it. You can feel him twitch inside of you and his hips jerk for a split second, choppy and dazed, before he's able to fall back into the smooth, relentless rhythm that he had created while he pants into your mouth. 

You work your own body to meet his thrusts, trying to create as much pleasure between the both of you as possible. You can feel his spit slick against your lips, but you can't be bothered to care, releasing his tongue from the suction of your mouth to nip at his bottom lip; swollen and soft. Somehow it makes him drive into you all that deeper like he's absolutely hellbent on ripping you apart and filling you, building you up again in his own image until the only thoughts in your head revolve around him and solely him. It has your brain going fuzzy, liquifying in your skull and your head rocks back on your shoulders until it plops back on the mattress. Your spine bows, arching sharp and tight until your stomach melds against his. The laugh that leaves you is already a little fucked out; slurred and mindless. 

"Far - I - shit - " it's all a scrambled mess. You can't even form a sentence. Your tongue is lax and useless, unable to make a single syllable, and the only noises that rise from your lungs are moans and cries of total rapture. But a glance upward confirms that he isn't fairing much better than you. He looks just as gone as you feel. Skin glittering with a sheen of sweat that sparks low in the luminescence of the lamp in the corner, shinning like a layer of dusted gold and his eyes are glazed over and dark, ensnaring you completely. It's a little nasty, the outright lewd wet repetitive smacks of skin hitting skin coming from where your bodies meet; the scent of sex in the air, tainting the delicate summer wind like a depraved aphrodisiac. But you can hardly focus on any of that when you've got Farleigh suspended over you, looking outright debauched. 

"You're s' pretty," you manage to weakly say between your panting. 

You can tell that he heard you. You see the recognition flicker across his face, the space between his eyebrows furrowing when he looks down at you. There's a smile too. Faint from the way that his mouth is dropped open in pleasure, but you can still make out its influence around the shape of his lips. "I love you," he whispers it with reverence. The confession is still so brand new. Delicate and tender, but it has your body thrumming with something intense and feverish, bleeding into your chest, fluttering and wild. A fiery, dazzling heat courses its way throughout your entire body, making your toes curl and your fingers scramble for purchase; bunching up the bed sheets. 

You want to return the sentiment. To tell him that you feel that same, but as soon as you go to speak, he's punching into you, making you feel the thick drag of his cock, effectively ripping the breath from you, choking you on it. He takes ahold of one of your thighs, securing it tighter around his waist like he's trying to get as close to you as he physically can without disrupting the flow of his thrusts. You can already feel that giant wall of heat and electricity rising, looming up like a violent ocean or a storm, giving you a taste of what's about to sweep over you. You can distantly feel yourself reaching onto Farleigh, drawing him closer by looping an arm around his back and latching a hand around his forearm, clawing for anything to center yourself. As much as you want to be doused and consumed by the shifting, liquid nirvana quickly forming within your abdomen, you also don't want to lose the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You settle your mouth over his throat, not biting but tasting. Tracing your tongue over the tendons flexing underneath his skin, smelling and taking in the salt and vanilla and spice there. And you can feel the vibrations of his moans and whimpers humming against your lips. He's saying something, but you're unable to make out the words through the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into your skull. But you do catch a ragged groan of your name and few scattered swears that follow after. You smile around his throat, trailing your lips down to his clavicle to lightly nip. 

Your muscles start to seize, body winding up tight in preparation for the melted heat that's burning at you, about to set you alight. You slip your hand free from around its grip on his upper arm, lowering it down between your shifting bodies. Your mouth drops open when your find your clit, sensitive and slick, aiding you in drawing compact, heavy circles around it, making your cunt clench around him. The way that you squeeze him steals more whimpers from his chest, pitchy and wanton, tipping him closer to his own orgasm. 

You try to warn him. To tell him that something raging and overwhelming is cresting over you, but not a single word makes it way out. Your lungs are caught and drawn tight, keeping you silent. In your daze, you haven't even noticed that you've begun to drag your fingertips across his back, scrambling for some sort of security to keep you in place and present, grounded to the bed and Farleigh's body without your mind turning into complete mush and drifting away. Your nails are slipping down just above his spine, leaving marks down the expanse of his skin. It makes him lurch his hips into you sharply, not disrupting his rhythm, but deepening it into a thick grind and it has them pressing into your knuckles, nudging your fingertips over your clit with more pressure.

"Far-" you choke helplessly, voice ragged and near raw. 

"Come on, baby," he coos around his own shaky breath. "Just let it go. Cum for me." 

You feel it everywhere; in your hands, your toes, soaking through every piece of your body, down to your nerves and bone marrow. But regardless of the utter weight of it, your mind still hardly has time to compute the scope of what you're feeling. That tight coiling band in your abdomen snaps like a frayed rubber and rope, releasing a deluge of bliss that devours you like a burst of flames and embers, taking away all of the oxygen in your lungs to feed the fire searing through your entire being. 

You aren't sure how long you're suspended in that state of rapture for. Lost and wonderfully held captive to the pure ecstasy saturating every inch of you, wracking across your muscles in full delicious tremors like your body is determined to ride out every ounce of possible pleasure. You seize tightly, cunt gripping around his cock, and clenching over and over again, effectively shoving him over that sinful precipice along with you. And you distantly register him hunching over your body, bucking his hips deep to chase after his own orgasm with scattered moans. He cums with a strained grunt, spilling himself inside of you with a gentle rush of a pleasant warmth that makes your toes curl. 

The comedown is syrupy and soft, settling over your skin low and mellow, like curling up underneath a blanket. It's the feel of Farleigh over you that guides you back to a state of coherence, the sound of his labored breathing leveling out close to your ear and you find your heaving lungs working to mimic the pace of his own. He's gone boneless over you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a pleased sigh that puffs over your skin. It has you relaxing your thighs, unwinding your legs from their hold around his waist to let him sag against you further. And the two of you just stay that way for a long peaceful moment. Basking in each other's presence and the afterglow. 

You absentmindedly drag your fingertips over his back, tracing the faint divot of his spine in gentle sweeps. But your eyebrows furrow when they feel thin, long raises in his skin, and it has you lifting your head to try and peer over his shoulder. He grunts in objection when it has you shifting him a little from where he's tucked himself snuggly into the junction of your throat. But you can't be bothered to pay it any mind when you spot the light but angry scratches that decorate his back, spanning around close to the nape of his neck and down past his shoulder blades. 

"Shit, I'm sorry," you apologize with something close to guilt settling in your gut. He hums questioningly but doesn't make any effort to articulate a response, so thankfully it must not hurt that bad considering that he doesn't seem to be paying them any mind, though you find yourself elaborating regardless. "Your back. I scratched it all up." 

Another low vocalization leaves him, it's close to a purr almost, something that sounds suspiciously satisfied as he presses a kiss to your neck, just over your pulse. "Don't be sorry. I liked it." 

That makes you feel a bit better at least, even though you can't help but to playfully roll your eyes at the comment. Then he's moving, pulling back from you and you suddenly find yourself as the one who's protesting when he shuffles from your body. You hiss underneath your breath when he slips his limp cock from you, making you clench around nothing, still sensitive and a little tender. He whispers something that sounds like it might be an apology, bending down to kiss the inside of your knee. You let yourself relax again, allowing your limbs to dip back into the plush of the mattress while you enjoy the pleasant buzz of endorphins still rushing around in your veins.

The bed shifts, leaving you to assume that Farleigh is probably getting up to go and clean himself in the bathroom and retrieve you a towel so that you could wipe yourself down. But instead, the shape of what feels a lot like a pair of shoulders nudging between your legs and spreading your thighs apart is what pulls you from your buzzed headspace. You shift yourself onto your elbows, lifting your head back up on your neck to glance down your body and you're somewhat surprised to see that Farleigh has nestled himself between your hips. His eyes have fluttered closed while he's begun to trace kisses along your inner thighs. 

"Farleigh," you say, a question hanging heavy in the air. 

You get another hum in response, but he does focus on you enough meet your gaze. 

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asks, nuzzling a little closer to the apex of your thighs where you're still a little sore and soaking and admittedly a little filthy with your shared release. And there's a fleeting little thought that bounces around your head, a quick, disbelieving: There's no way he's going to do what I think he's going to do. 

"I'm not sure," you reply, swallowing around the thickness in your throat, even though you've got that heavy suspicion looming over you. But he's not going to do that surely. And almost like a sort of answer, his lips curl into a smirk, dark eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief. He plucks the delicate skin of where your groin and thigh join between his teeth, not enough to be uncomfortable but just enough to tease before soothing it with the brush of his tongue. 

"Oh, I think you do." That's all he says before he's leaning forward and sealing the searing wet heat of his mouth over your cunt. It's like a shock to your system, the blazing warmth suddenly basking over the sensitive nerves of your clit, and it has you gasping. You jerk helplessly underneath him, still raw and recovering from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but Farleigh doesn't budge so much as an inch in your body's mindless writhe. He just tosses one of his arms across your waist in an effort to keep you pinned down, and it works in successfully fixing you to the mattress, keeping you splayed open underneath the unforgiving drag of his tongue across your frayed, thrumming nerves while he chases after the faint, impeded rock of your hips. It's torturous and entirely too much, with the pleasure feeling so raw and direct that it might split you down the middle and it actually has you sobbing.

"Farleigh!" You cry, latching your fingers onto his curls like you don't whether to pull him closer or away from you. "I can't!" 

"Yes, you can," he insists, pulling back just enough to speak. "But just say the word and I'll stop. Just tell me ' no.' " 

But you can't do that. You don't want to, you find, even while it feels like you're being set on fire and every little atom that makes up your existence is being pulled taught and dipped in a melted vat of wax. And there's a moment where he stops. Waiting patiently for that single little word and when it never arrives, he's scooping you back into his mouth. Dipping his tongue down inside of you and taking the mixture of your combined cum into his mouth and drinking the both of you down. It's so dirty. Filthy and utterly debauched, but it's so good, too. And you just hardly manage to glance down and observe him from the gap made between your outstretched arms, and you can't help but gasp when you find that he's already watching you. His eyes are shimmering with a deep satisfied copper and the dark of his irises have been eaten up by his pupils; now overblown with hunger and want. There's an intensity that leaves you so completely breathless and captivated. 

Honestly, your body is already so hypersensitive that you aren't sure that you'll even be able to cum a second time, not on the back of your first orgasm at least. Not so close together. But you don't even really care if you do or not. He looks so beautiful between your legs. His expression is drunk almost, a little blissed out and glazed over. 

It takes you a moment to even recognize it through the satin smoke and fog covering your own mind, but you can see past the view of your own body and his head that his hips have begun to thrust against the mattress, moving his cock against the bed sheets and covers in an attempt to achieve his own pleasure. The sight alone has liquid heat cascading down your spine and humming between your legs, making your clit throb underneath the perfect lashing of his tongue. 

It's all so desperate and charged, you can practically taste the atmosphere sizzling at your skin like something electric and alive. You can feel the dampness of tears beginning to trickle down past your water line, from the overstimulation or the sheer gravity of the pleasure taking over your body, you aren't entirely certain. And then he's removing the hand that had been gripped around one of your thighs so that he can slip a finger into the entrance of your cunt, groaning when you clench around him wildly and cry out from the overwhelming sense of torturous ecstasy. Your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent sob and then you can feel it again, prickling at your toes and scattering over your skin. You were wrong. So, so wrong. He's going to make you cum again. 

It's hurtling towards you with a speed that's jarring, threating to eat you up and leave bare bones behind. And you want it. A part of you wishes that he would just use you up until there's nothing left. It has you chasing the ceaseless curl of his finger, and gasping out when he slips a second in alongside the other, shoving you that much closer to the edge with the stretch. "Oh, God, " you whine in a jagged whisper. "You're gonna make me cum." 

He moans against you heavily, sparking electricity over you with the ripple of his voice. You let one of your hands move from his hair, using it to prop yourself up, ignoring the way that the muscles in your arm tremor and shake with the exertion, but you can't find it in yourself to give in, not while you're completely enraptured in the way that his hips continue to steadily grind into the bed. His breath is snags with each inhale, frayed and bordering on a whine with each grind as he pleasures himself on the mattress, desperately seeking out his bliss. It has your body locking up tight, and that's the only warning that you get when you're absolutely blindsided by your orgasm. It isn't as searing or all-consuming as your first, your body already too sensitive and worked to give much, but that doesn't make it any less euphoric. 

It has you thrusting yourself against his face, using his nose to prolong the molten heat simmering throughout your veins, and then his mouth cradles around your clit, sucking at the tender nerves until your jerking against him and sobbing. The fingers that you still have in his hair clinch tight when you drop back against the bed in a useless heap, losing yourself to the sensations spreading over you and burning you alive. 

He laps at you a few more times, cleaning up the taste of you on his tongue and moving away only when you start to shift your hips in an attempt to get some reprieve from the stimulation. For a moment you dangle within that in between of consciousness and unconsciousness, simply existing without a thought. It's just that sugared, voltaic thrum coursing over every inch of you, making you hazy. But then you hear it. The sound of his labored, breathless breathing and it has you perking up to look over at him from his place on the bed. He's readjusted himself, having shifted onto his knees, and he's taken himself in the hold of his own hand. Stroking his grip down his girth, using the cum that's smeared across the velvet skin of his cock to aid himself in his movement. 

But what gets you the most is the way that he's watching you. Almost as though he's enthralled by how fucked out he's made you. Using the sight of how he's reduced you to a panting, boneless mess, to get off. 

You have had trouble with making eye contact with partners in the past, having always found it too . . . invasive almost. Too embarrassing. But now you're meeting his stare head on. Unwavering, emboldened by your own lust. You collect yourself until you're shuffled closer and place yourself into a sitting position. His eyes are glued onto you the entire time, a heady anticipation burning within them that would have had you tempted to go for another round if your body wasn't already so spent. 

He leans towards you, the both of you drifting close to each other's space but never touching, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, soaking against your skin. He's already close, the way that his eyebrows are furrowed has already become familiar.  The low pitchy moans that are steadily pouring past the pout of his mouth are an obvious tell. And that desperate, starved look has clouded over his gaze again and he almost looks drunk, fogged over with pleasure while his hips chase after the warmth of his own hand. He groans when he squeezes the head of his cock while he strokes, pressing his thumb down over a vein that throbs across his shaft, and it makes his thrusts skip shakily before he's able to regain his rhythm.

A part of you wants to reach out and touch him, to bat his hand away and take over, to feel him pulse in your hand. But there's also something that's undeniably arousing about watching him greedily chase after his own release, too captivated to do much else other than just sit and admire. Quietly roving over how his chest rises and falls in an entrancing pattern, the sweat glittering on his forehead and how his thighs subtly clench with each upward stroke from his fist. 

"Please, " he's suddenly gasping and it's so faint that you barely hear it. It has you leaning even closer until your noses brush and the scent of him is thick and heavy in your lungs. That pleading look in his eyes gives you a pretty good indication of what he wants, but you want to hear it from him directly. 

"What is it?" You ask softly, moving yourself just a little bit closer until your knees are pressed against his. 

His breath snags, lashes fluttering when he gives himself a particularly firm tug. "I want- " he swallows heavily, thrusting deep into his hand and temporarily distracting himself with his own bliss. "I want you to touch me. " 

And as much as you just want to remain an observer, you can't deny his supplication. It has you reaching out to place your palm on his stomach, basking in the way that the muscles underneath jump in surprise from the contact, and something in his stare focuses just a bit, zeroing in on you through the haze with something that looks a lot like anticipation. You brush your fingertips over the spars happy trail the leads down to his groin, moving slowly to tempt. "Yeah? " You tease. "Your own hand not doing it for you?" 

He shakes his head; panting. "No, " he answers, voice wavering before he nearly starts to chant. "Need yours. I want it, I want it -" 

You hush him softy, brushing your lips over his and you can't help the coil of satisfaction that winds tight when he chases after the press of them. But you pull away, a little cruelly to be honest, before he could join his to your own. He almost whimpers at the loss but falls quiet as he watches you move across the mattress, slipping down past the edge of the bed until your knees settle on the floor. You nudge both of your hands on his thighs, and he silently listens to your request, shifting around until his legs are draped over the mattress and you're settled between them. 

You're still resisting that urge to knock his first aside and take him in your own hold, but something tells you that with how wound up that he is he'd probably cum as soon he feels your fingers slipping around his length, and as hot as that'd be, you also don't want this to be over just yet. You want to drag this out just a little bit longer. You lean close enough to smell the salty musk of him, letting the low rush of your breath caress over his throbbing cock. 

"Baby, come on," he pleads, still pumping his hand over himself, and it has another trickle of precum slipping over his knuckles. You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, a little coquette and sweet but the smug smile on your lips the exact opposite. 

"You're going to jerk yourself off," you say, firmly but not without affection and you can tell that he wants to argue with the way that his face twists into something petulant. "And you aren't going to stop until you cum in my mouth." 

Whatever bratty quip he had at the ready seems to die on his tongue. He swallows heavily, adjusting his feet on the floor so that he's able to get the leverage to thrust up into his hand with a new vigor. And yeah, he definitely isn't going to last much longer at all. Not at how passionately he going at it. And even with sweat and saliva and cum smeared across your skin, and the rush of oxytocin still thrumming around in your system and your muscles lax and warm from your previous orgasms, reality is finally settling over you. That you really are here in Farleigh's room, sat up on the floor with the Persian rug underneath your legs doing little to dull the sting in your knees while he jerks himself off just a few scant inches from your mouth. But your confession hangs heavy over the atmosphere - his too - dulcet and balmy like the summer weather outside. 

It has that consuming, fuzzy sensation back and glowing within your chest, even with the lewd sound of his cum soaked grip and hitched panting filling the air. It's utterly filthy and yet, it's completely intimate and gentle. It all bubbles up inside of your chest, puffing all of the endearment and devotion upwards until it takes shape into the three little words; the ones that have been already spoken several times tonight, but that didn't make them any less felt. Any less true. "I love you." You all but whisper. You aren't sure if it's the statement itself or if maybe there was a certain expression of your face, but something seems to push him all that closer to his release. It makes him groan, ragged and a little gutted while his hips stutter. 

You run both of your hands up his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your skin on his and it makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open. "Baby - I'm - " 

"Do it, " you say, leaning closer until your bottom lip smears against the leaking head of his cock. "I want to taste you." 

And then you're suddenly gripping onto his erection, taking ahold of him right above his own hand in a firm, smooth grip. That seems to be enough to finally push him over the edge because he's punching his hips up into both of your fists a couple more times, hurtling himself into his orgasm with a long grunt of your name. His abdomen clenches, toes curling, and his balls draw up tight. But his vison doesn't stray from you for a single second, keeping his eyes fixed to you while he watches you with rapt attention when you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out and up against the head of his cock just in time to collect the cum that spurts from it. He gasps out a string of frayed curses, a few strained "oh, fuck's" and a low call of your name while you squeeze his length a couple more times, dragging out the waves of his pleasure even when his own grip slacken around his girth. You only let him go before it tetters on the edge of being too much, obediently settling your palm back onto his thigh. 

"Swallow," he commands shakily, admiring the opaque fluid still collected on your tongue with a filthy kind of fascination. You don't deny him, closing your mouth and tilting your head back so that he can see the way that your throat bobs when your drink down his release, savoring the taste of the earthy salt of him. 

He doesn't even bother catching his breath. He's leaning down and gripping your forearms to help haul you up onto your feet and back against his body until you're both falling back onto the security of the mattress. You can't fight off the delicate, twinkling laugh that leaves your chest when he rolls you onto your back, showering your face with quick but loving kisses. You wrap your legs around his hips to draw him closer, eager to feel him against your body, to soak in his warmth and scent. And that's how the both of you stay, idlily skimming your fingertips over each other's skin and pressing your lips to whatever places that you can reach, scattering them over the others neck and the apples of both of your cheeks. It's almost disgustingly sweet, so much so that you feel as though you might choke on it.  

But honestly, that might also be from the muggy heat that still clings over the room, sitting on your skin like a layer of steam. Even the breeze from the open window and the steady current coming from the oscillating fan that's chugging along in the corner, spitting out air from the rotating head, does little to help chase out the stifling warmth. It has you groaning into his chest, a little annoyed. "This heat is awful," you complain. 

"If you think today was bad then you're going to be psyched about tomorrow. It's supposed to be worse." He says, drawing shapes on the back of your shoulder. 

The news nearly makes you sob. "Why don't they get an A/C?" 

"Some bullshit about it damaging the house," he replies. And admittedly, you can recall James mentioning something about that in the past. And he had gone into an explanation about it possibly warping the flooring or causing corrosion and wood rot. "But they've got one in their bedroom." 

You fucking knew it, but the admission still makes you bristle, propping yourself up enough to look down from his place against the pillows. "You're kidding." 

He shakes his head, eyebrows perking in a way that tells you he's just as exasperated about it as you are. Even more so, considering that he's here at Saltburn more than he's back in the States, and is left to deal with the sweltering weather on a semi regular basis. "Nope," he sighs. 

You let your head rest back on his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his heartbeat steadily thrumming underneath your ear. You hum lowly, trying to settle but the sweat prickling at your skin suddenly feels awful and disgusting. "We should go swimming again," you propose. Right now, the idea of the cool water lapping against your skin sounds like absolute heaven. 

"Skinny dipping," he supplies quickly, humor melting over his words, but that doesn't make the offer any less true. 

"What about Venetia? Doesn't she usually go for her little walks on the grounds around this time?" You ask, absentmindedly playing with one of the curls close to the nape of his neck. 

"So? You see each other naked in the field all the time," he responds. You can't exactly argue with that logic. You've probably seen her and even Felix bare more times than you can count on your fingers, so if she were stumble across the two of you it really wouldn't be all that shocking. "And Duncan? I've seen him out this late more than once." 

Farleigh scoffs, tilting his head down to peer at you from your place settled over him. "He's probably up in the attic, jerking off to some porcelain dolls or something." 

"You're such an ass, " you say, even with a smile nudging at the corners of your lips. He's quick to return your amusement, a light chuckle bubbling from his lungs, racking your body with small tremors. 

"You like it." He smirks, nose wrinkling a bit with his mirth. "It keeps you on your toes." 

You can refute that. Not even if you wanted to. You nuzzle against him instead, planting a kiss onto his cheek before lifting yourself up from the comfort of his body, swinging yourself onto the floor. His eyes track you while you search for your discarded sleep shorts, and you pluck them from their crumbled-up state near the base of the fan with a small 'ah-hah!' And when you turn around towards the bed, you've noticed that he's sat himself up now, observing you with his head slightly tilted and some indiscernible glint in his eyes, but it's soft and undeniably fond. 

"What?" You ask as you slip your feet into your shorts, slipping them up until they're hanging from your hips. 

"Just watching," he answers. 

You glance away from him long enough to snatch a shirt from near your feet, and gauging from the familiar scent of vanilla and amber and the sight of the familiar sunny yellow words, it seems to be his, the same one that he had been wearing earlier. But you don't let it stop you from pulling it past your head and slipping your arms through the short sleeves until the fabric is draped over your body. It feels good against your skin, like it belongs there, and the pleased expression on his face tells you that he's enjoying the sight of you in his shirt. And the moment that's slipped over this little private space between the both of you feels so profound and mellow. But you find yourself stepping backwards towards the door, knowing that even if you leave the comfort of the room now that you have no reason to fear that this little bit of safety and adoration that's been built between the both of you won't shift or leave. That it'll always be there.

He tracks your movement, eyebrows raising in a silent question as you cross the floor without turning, placing your hand on the knob. 

"I'll race you there," you announce before twisting the door open to slip out from the threshold. 

You see the realization slip onto his face as you dart out into the hallway, the shouted sound of your name following after you as he scrambles to collect himself from the surface of the bed. "That's not fair!" He calls after you, but you're too busy padding down the hall with laughter bubbling up from within you to shoot anything back at him, determined to reach the pond before he does. 

It looks like you'll survive the summer after all. 

#farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start #farleigh start smut #farleigh saltburn #saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn fanfiction #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh x you

[witchyafterdark]

—Sebastian Sallow Headcanons; pt. 2

• The Pros and Cons of being with him •

These are just some of the headcanons that might manifest if you ever think about dating this one of a kind man, Sebastian Sallow. Once again, these are my personal thoughts, so take them with a grain of salt. None of these screenshots belong to me. All credits to their respective creators and owners! 💚

・❥・ PROS

Being with Sebastian is like a breath of fresh air every single day.

Even in the most mundane of moments, he won't be short of new things and experiences to enjoy with you. He makes sure that you're always happy in his presence that every time you have to spend some time apart, you can't wait to see and be with him again.

Your safety and security is top-priority to him, in more ways than one.

He has no qualms in joining you break the curfew to go adventuring in the highlands. Whenever he gets the chance, he slips a vial (or five) of Wiggenweld Potions into your robes in case you go fighting spiders, trolls, and Ashwinders without him. And when you come back to the castle with scratches or marks on you, best believe he will fuss over you regardless if you're in public.

But it's the little things that really matter to him.

Whenever you spend the night in his dorm, he ensures you're comfortable in his bed; grabbing extra pillows, giving you an extra blanket so you don't end up struggling with him over it, and casting a warming charm over the foot of the bed to keep your feet cozy.

He might even start to buy ribbons or hair ties for when you need them but don't have any on you at the moment. You're thirsty? He has another water canteen for you. Your seasonal allergies bothering you? He's got another set of handkerchiefs just for you. Your neck hurts from being hunched over while reading? He won't even hesitate to massage the back of your neck in soothing motions. You missed breakfast? Don't worry, he pocketed and kept warm a bunch of fresh muffins just for you.

When you get sick, you can only imagine the things he would do to nurse you back to health.

Sebastian is actually an expert in time management. It doesn't matter if he has classes in fifteen-minutes. He would have asked the house elves to prepare you a hearty bowl of vegetable soup, personally brought it to your bed in the Hospital Wing, and he would truly spoon feed you without hesitation. He would also do all your missed homework for you, and duplicate all his notes for you to go through once you're well. And he will see to it that you're nursed back to health by hook or by crook. He will sneak up to the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night just to check if you're sleeping well, or if you're awake and you need anything from him. He's very, very caring.

Of course, not everyone is a fan of the Hero of Hogwarts.

So, when he hears some students spreading nasty rumors about you, or badmouthing you, he will see to it that this kind of defamation ends within the span of a day. He will not allow anyone to talk bad about you, and would protect your reputation to the best of his abilities; even if he has to... dirty his hands a lot.

You will always feel loved by him, in all the sense of the word.

Even though he would be mindful of his public displays of affection—he actually likes to keep more intimate moments with you a bit more private and "for his eyes only"—he doesn't shy away from holding your hand in public. One of the simple things he enjoys doing is to guide you around with his hand on the small of your back, always keeping physical contact with you. Sweet kisses, hugs, comforting words, unexpected and unprompted gifts, catching him staring at you lovingly (and him denying this cutely), and being at your beck and call are just some of the things he loves to give you.

Beyond the surface, he is actually very in-tune with you and how you fair in the relationship.

Sebastian can perfectly read a person within a given time period. He managed to become Ominis' best friend, who is quite aloof and very guarded. This is because Sebastian has a way of appealing to people in a genuine way. This quality of his definitely extends to your relationship with him. He already senses when you had a bad morning, or when you're not in the mood for anything. He also doesn't push you to explain yourself if you don't want to. He will, however, do whatever to make you feel seen and heard in the moment, and won't invalidate your feelings... as long as you see eye to eye.

→ His romantic and compassionate gestures would grow even further once you've both graduated from Hogwarts, and are free to explore the full extent of your relationship.

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・❥・ CONS

He is aware of the weight of his baggage in life, and is quite stubborn about it.

(This one's not so much of a disadvantage but just something to keep an eye on).

Dealing with a lot of traumatic events and death of family members since childhood is bound to change anybody, and Sebastian is no exception. And since things just kept piling up on top of the other as he grows older, he is surprisingly stubborn and immovable about the things that has happened to him. The devastation of Anne's curse and the subsequent death of Solomon had left an indelible mark on his own perception of himself.

If there's one thing about him that you should know, it is that he refuses to be treated as a helpless victim of circumstances. Even if you're coming from a place of good intentions and wanting to help him overcome his trauma, he doesn't like to be helped unless he asks for it. And more often than not, he prefers to bury his emotional torment under a cool and controlled façade.

Talking about wanting to help him heal from his past is one way to push him into becoming emotionally detached from you. He'd rather swallow all the hurt than trying to heal from them; because dealing with them, no matter how beneficial it can be for him, will make him face his perceived weaknesses and supposed failures in life. And if you really push him to talk to you about these things, he will end up projecting all that trauma onto you and the relationship to "give you a taste" of what you're asking for.

With that said, he won't allow you to sway him from things he set his mind into—even if those things are deadly for him and the people around him.

To understand Sebastian, you only need to observe why he does the things he do. He doesn't do things without a purpose, without reason. But when his reasoning becomes severely clouded by his need to succeed, no amount of effort to persuade him otherwise will help your cause. In his mind, you're either with him, or against him. This laser-sharp focus and tunnel-vision can be viewed in a positive light. But too much of something can lead to the worst outcomes. And in his oldest friend's words, "he doesn't know when to stop." He doesn't go to sleep when he's tired, he goes to sleep when he's done. And while that is an attractive quality to a certain point, he doesn't know his limitations. That means he won't stop unless he gets what he sought out to achieve, even with the risk of life and limb.

In the same vein, he will do absolutely anything to get what he wants; and won't take no for an answer.

The ends justify the means for Sebastian. While he can be the type to think before he acts, what usually happens is that he thinks at the same time he acts. And if you ruminate about it, that kind of behavior can be quite alarming due to the notion that he thought about the repercussions or the moral standing of a certain action, yet still acting upon it. He knows what he's doing is wrong but have no problem justifying what he does without hesitation. In a life or death situation, this kind of attitude is beneficial because he can think quick on his feet. But you're not faced with life-threatening situations every single day. This makes you wonder... what kind of moral standards does he have on a regular basis? And what would happen to you if you get in the way of his plans?

On top of it, since he knows how to appeal to people's feelings, he doesn't hesitate to use that to his advantage very well.

Simply put, he knows which buttons to push in order to get you in his side. He will try to make you see that he's doing very questionable—or even downright heinous—things for the greater good. And he can do it in the most genuine, convincing way. He knows that you're attached to him, and he will monopolize on it for the other reason that he doesn't want to go against the person he loves.

But if you try to stand up against him, and try to persuade him into dropping what he's doing, his demeanor will immediately change. He will perceive your lack of cooperation as an act of betrayal, and will resort to other methods of manipulation.

And while he is also hurting from your direct disapproval, Sebastian can find ways to slowly but surely twist the nature of your relationship with him to get you to become co-dependent upon him to break down your defenses. This kind of tactic can eventually degrade the quality of your bond with him, and by extension, the way you behave with him over time.

If you decided to put your feet down and stand your ground against his decisions, best believe you're dead to him.

Sebastian can grieve the loss of his relationship with you, his beloved, but he won't ever let it show in public. It's as if he doesn't know you to begin with. In his mind, if you can betray him like that, then he shouldn't associate with you at all. No matter how painful it is to swallow the bitter pill of his new reality, he'll stiffen that upper lip and act as if it doesn't bother him at all. He is very, very stubborn.

(And yes, this is quite reflective of how he is with us post-credits because let's face it, him not speaking to us anymore was like a slap to the face. Even Duncan talks to us!)

╭━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━╮

So, do the pros outweigh the cons for you?

#ngl i'd still smash 🙃 #this has been sitting in my drafts for so long i just had to post this one #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow headcanon #sebastian sallow headcanons #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcanons #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff

[goldfish-afterhours]

Genshin Characters as Fairy Tales

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli, Xiao x Gn!Reader

Type/Genre: Bulleted headcanons, angst/fluff

Warnings: Not all fairy tales have happy endings—major character death

Notes: Man why are fairy tales so sad

Diluc

Cinderella

On the night of your 18th birthday, your father holds a grand masquerade ball, inviting everyone in the kingdom

You, however, had little to no interest in such things. While the party was happening inside, you decided to take a stroll in the gardens

Who knew there would be monsters lurking in the dark that got past the guards?

Before it could devour you, someone sliced its head off with one fell swoop

Standing in front of you was a man with red hair, a black masquerade mask obscuring his eyes

You thanked him and offered him a reward, but he declined. Upon seeing your disappointed expression, he suggested just spending the night talking with him, since he didn’t know anyone at the ball

The two of you sit outside, talking about anything and everything as the night grows later and later

Just as the clock struck twelve, the masked man jumps to his feet, muttering something about how he has to get home

You try to persuade him to stay, or at least tell you his name, but he dashes off so fast you can’t catch up to him

All he left behind was your memory of his soft smile…and a black mask, dropped in the grass

You scour the entire kingdom for him, holding up the mask to every person you meet in hopes you find him, but to no avail

But a crazy idea pops in your head

Deep into the night, you stroll down the main street, unarmed. Just as you expected, a group of hoodlums threaten you, demanding money in exchange for your life

And just as you expected, the man with red hair returns to save you again

For saving your life twice, you insist on giving him a grand reward

You bring him, the son of a deceased and disgraced ex-government official, to the castle, and the two of you live happily ever after <3

“I was afraid you didn’t want to see me again. But putting yourself in danger was much too reckless.”

“That’s how much I wanted to see you again~”

Kaeya

The Little Mermaid

Kaeya, a merman, falls in love with you, a pirate

He’s always swimming beside your ship, listening to you sing with your shipmates of treasure, of good alcohol, of friendship, of love

Gives away his voice to have legs and be with you. He doesn’t want to just listen to your songs—he wants to be the one you sing them to

Cruelly, you fall in love with someone else

His brother, in an attempt to save Kaeya, presents him with a dagger, saying if he is able to kill you then he’ll be able to return to the sea as a merman

But how can Kaeya kill the one he gave up everything for?

How can he even dare imagine hurting the one he loved with his entire being, that he would be willing to walk on glass everyday for?

Throws the dagger into the water. As the sun rises, he watches you, laughing together with your lover, as he melts into seafoam

And as much as it pains him, at least he can see you happy one last time

You don’t see him as he is carried away by the wind

“No matter what…I hope you live happily.”

Childe

Little Red Riding Hood

He’s the Big Bad Wolf, and you’re an herbalist making your deliveries of medicine to your patient in the forest

At first, he’s too nervous to approach you, afraid he would scare you away

But one day, when he sees you shivering from the frosted air, he steels himself enough to offer you his red scarf

The smile you gave him as you wrapped the scarf around yourself was almost enough to heal the years of loneliness from his isolation in the woods

The two of you become friends: Childe shows you all the best spots to pick herbs, and you tell him stories of the outside world

The villagers fear him, a man-eating beast, so he never ventures out of the forest

Childe loves the sound of your voice, and he loved listening to your stories, especially this one story about how the Sun and Moon were lovers in a tragedy, separated in the sky

Protects you from the hostile wild animals in the forest

When the two of you realize you were in love with each other, you made no haste in moving into his cozy cottage

But when the villagers realized their beloved herbalist was in the clutches of the detested wolf, they all swore you had been tricked

They stormed the forest, armed

You come back to your cottage from picking herbs, just in time to see the villagers point a rifle at him

Even with your skills, there is nothing you can do but cradle him in your arms as his blood stains the grass red

“C-Can you finish the rest of the story? I want to know…if the Sun and the Moon ever meet again.”

Zhongli

Sleeping Beauty

In the wild overgrowth once known as the country Liyue, there exists a legend of an almighty god who had fallen into a deep slumber

To save your country, you set out to search for this missing god

The terrain is harsh, overrun with trees and thistles and bushes blocking your every way

But occasionally, you will stumble upon a statue, vines and moss adorning the structure, helping you to believe that perhaps there really was a civilization who lived here in the past

The wild guides you up the cliffs, into a cave where you find a dragon sleeping, his breath slow and shallow

There was something so lonely, so sad about this sleeping dragon, trapped deep in the country of a long-gone civilization, only able to wait for someone to come

You put your hands on the sides of his face, and, as if to reward him for all his years of waiting and to tell him he is no longer alone, you kiss his forehead

The moment you do, his scales scatter away like droplets in a summer rainstorm

You were no longer holding a dragon, but cupping the face of a man

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing amber eyes that glowed like the moon in the darkness of the cave, and you knew you had found your missing god

“Oh…you have found me. How long I’ve been waiting for you.”

Xiao

Beauty and the Beast

With each passing day, Xiao can feel himself transforming more into a monster

The weight of his sins grew heavier and heavier, covering him with ashes and feathers

Soon, there were rumours of a half bird beast flying over the village at night, searching for its next meal

You, an orphan that had been treated as an outcast since birth, was chosen by the villagers to be the sacrifice to quell the beast’s anger and hunger

But after being brought to his decaying castle, Xiao makes it clear he has no interest in eating you

In fact, he gives you free reign in his home, allowing you to go wherever you pleased

At first, he tries to scare you, tries to get you to stay away from him

But when you see him feeding the chipmunks outside, and the songbirds feel safe enough around him to perch on his shoulders, you no longer feel afraid

The two of you slowly warm up to each other. Xiao’s favourite thing to do is listen to you read

When he can’t fall asleep at night from the pain, he asks you to read him stories so he can fall asleep to the sound of your soft voice

You come to realize he’s not a monster but a hurt, scared boy who only wants to wake up from this nightmare he’s been trapped in

The two of you enjoyed your peaceful life together, until one day a hero from your village stormed Xiao’s castle, determined to either save or take vengeance for you

Xiao, who flew over the village every night to make sure no danger came to the villagers, could not bring himself to defend himself from this naive boy

As you hold his still body, you kiss him goodbye

To both you and the hero’s shock, the feathers stabbed into Xiao’s body dispersed, swirling into the sky

The feathers kept flying away until the beast you were holding in your arms became human again

“You’ve awoken me from a terrifying dream. Thank you.”

-

please comment/reblog if you’ve enjoyed! <3

#listen I did not expect it to get this dark #my writing #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin au #genshin headcanons #genshin angst #Diluc #Kaeya #Childe #Xiao #Zhongli #Diluc x reader #Kaeya x reader #Childe x reader #Xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios

[axelsagewrites]

Hello, dear reader. I'd like to make a wish for Rhaenyra's little sister, maybe a year or two. And she never liked Alicent, who after marrying the king tries (along with Otto) to demote her to bastard status (but Viserys loves his little girl too much to do this to her). Of course, things get even worse when Rhaenyra's sister gets engaged to Harwin...

Thank you for your attention, I like your stories 🫶🏻. Another thing, can I stop by more often? I wish I had more of my ideas adorned with your writing

Harwin Strong*Suitable Match

Pairing: Harwin x f!reader

Word count: 1320

Warnings: Step parent hating step child, secret relationship, kind of implied smut

a/n: ahh thank u sm for being so sweet and ofc request as much or talk however much u want. sorry i didnt reply sooner i just didnt want to lose the request x

Masterlist Here

A life of a princess was something to envy. Well so many had claimed however after the death of your mother life felt like an ever falling spiral. Your sister began to grow closer to Alicent after the death and while you were happy for her to have a friend Alicent had always been unkind to you.

It had started small with her asking Rhaenyra not to let you join in their games to her unpicking your needle work whenever you would wander off to stretch your legs. Soon you gave up on even trying to be nice to her. anytime she was invited to dinner was met with loud sighs from you.

“Why does she hate me?” you pouted one night as Rhaenyra upbraided your hair.

Your sister rolled her eyes as she began to brush your hair out, “She doesn’t hate you. she’s just not used to a little sister,”

“She’s mean,”

“Cmon she isn’t that bad?”

-

You didn’t want to say I told you so when Alicent was betrothed to your father but the look on your face said it for you. at least Rhaenyra was able to marry and move away. you were instead stuck living at court with your evil stepmother and her spawn. Well, the children were kind to you, but Alicent constantly used them to get under your skin.

She’d send toddler Aegon running over with pretend crown shouting that he was going to be king. Or she would have a 2-year-old Aemond claim he was your husband. She tried to make Helena spill wine on your dress one time, but the poor girl burst into tears and confessed to you instantly.

Instead Alicent settled on insisting that your chambers were given to Aegon. Something you managed to convince your father against from at first but soon you were moved to a wing of the castle usually just for guests. You would’ve complained about longer if you hadn’t realised your new chambers window overlooked the kings guard training ground.

From your window you’d pretend to be doing needle work while secretly watching break bones fling any man that challenged him like a rag doll. Eventually Harwin caught onto your staring and would send his own glimpses up between sparring. It was also handy that your chamber was only a short walk from the guards’ sleeping quarters and Harwin soon became a frequent private guest of yours.

-

“Ser Barros is coming to court next week,” your father told you over a family dinner, “and I heard his son is looking for a wife,” he said, shooting you a hopeful glance.

“I heard he’s a fine man father,” you said kindly knowing full well it didn’t matter. Somehow every match they tried to make for you was sabotaged. The tall dark Baratheon boy was ever so keen for weeks for your hand then one day disappeared like a ghost. The gorgeous Lannister man that would bring you fine jewels suddenly decided a dornish match was of more importance. Even the Tarly boy you had courted had inexplicitly decided to join the nights watch. Every time Alicent wore the same twisted smile.

The only ones she didn’t send running were the incredibly old and decrepit looking men from minor houses, but it wasn’t hard to convince your father they weren’t suitable matches. “Perhaps we should set up a luncheon to great the boy,” Alicent suggested making your father smile widely. She really had twisted him around her finger.

-

“I wish I could stay here all day,” you pouted as you lay your head on Harwin’s bare chest.

His chuckle vibrated through you as his arm wrapped tight around your waist, “Me too princess but I have my duties and you have yours,”

“I thought your duty was to serve me,” you sighed dramatically, pretending to try get away.

Harwin laughed, his arms moving to cage you against the bed as he moved to lay over you, “I think I serve you just fine princess,” he said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw.

“Oh yeah?” you asked and Harwin hummed in response as his kisses grew lower.

-

As expected Borros’s son went running after only a week and now you were in another awkward family dinner however unluckily for you the children all had the cold so now you were sat in stoney silence with just your father and Alicent. “You should really think about your future dear,” she said with a fake sweet smile, “We worry for you,”

Instead of replying you grabbed your wine, drinking a hefty sip of it. Viserys sighed, “Alicent is right dear. You must marry. At this point we’re going to have to start considering marrying you to a tree!” he said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Honestly what even happened between you and the boy?”

-

The days that followed were awkward to say the least. Alicent walked around smug as all hell and your father continued to sulk. You decided enough was enough and when Alicent went out to the sept you decided to track your father down. Unsurprisingly you found him staring over a model of the city.

“Father?” you greeted, walking closer to the tired looking man, “May we talk?”

“Of course, sweet child,” he said, nodding for you to sit beside him before sighing, “You know I worry for you?”

“I do father, and I do appreciate it,” you lied but did your best to look sympathetic to your clueless father, “but I was thinking. Well. I found another match you see father,” you spoke, and his head perked up as he waited for you to finally spit it out, “He’s sweet and kind and his family is well respected. You even like his father, and I was just thinking- “

“Out with-it child,”

You took a breath before finally asking, “Have you considered Harwin Strong yet father?” Viserys sighed, his eyes turning away but you continued, “Think about it! I’d be able to be at court and help Helena with her studies. Plus, you have four more children so four more matches. You already have the Velaryon which secures the crownlands. Harwin and I would secure the Riverlands. Then after you betrothed Helena, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron you will have six of the seven kingdoms on your side. Your reach will go far especially if our children do the same,”

“You want to dilute the blood of old Valyria?” he asked, sounding exhausted as he spoke.

“No father, only strengthen it,” you said, moving to hold his hand, “Besides there is no other Targaryen or Velaryon to wed unless uncle daemon is brought back from exile- “you said but your father raised his hand to hush you.

He paused for a moment before nodding, “I will think about it. but for now, leave me. I have a lot to consider,”

“Thank you, father,”

-

Apparently Alicent must have missed this chamber meeting because somehow the news came back finally in your favour. Harwin would be your husband. You were so happy when your father told you that you instantly hugged him before rushing to find Harwin however that night at dinner Alicent shot you many dirty looks.

Finally, you had undermined her. you’d won. Well, that’s how it felt at first, but her glares began to sink into your skin till it itched. As the dinner ended, she tapped her cup with her fork, “A toast to my dear sweet daughter,” she smiled at you making your father beam, “May she have a marriage like ours,” she said, holding his hand tightly but you felt your stomach flutter.

“Here, here,” your father said, standing to kiss your cheek.

Alicent did the same, her arms twisting round your back into a bony hug, “Do not forget yourself darling,” she whispered sweetly in your ear, “You don’t win that easily,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

#harwin strong #harwin strong imagine #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong x you #harwin strong fic #harwin strong fanfic #ser harwin x reader #ser harwin strong #ser harwin breakbones #ser harwin strong smut #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #game of thrones show #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

[loveswrites]

Hey bestie, how you have been? Hope is good! Anyway, i really L O V E D your poly Volturi things, i was wondering if you take requests here goes one...

Ok, listen, fem!reader x poly volturi one where the reader is in her period, like I'm in mine and reading this i was wondering how they will react like smelling the blood all the time... i will love to see the way you work on this, but just if your comfortable.

So is this, take care of yourself and hope you have a great day! (and sorry for the bad English :)

Red Sea Poly Volturi x reader

Time it took me: 4 hours along with a cupcake bake in the middle and then part of the next day which was today so i'd say 8 hours

Word count: 2884

To Coraline: Hello Lovely! I've been doing a little bit better thank you so much for asking! I loved this req seeing as I am on mine as well I felt that it was a perfect time to write it and I guess that's what pushed me to write it so quickly! But I don't think I really did what you asked for? I don't know I always just get the vibes that I don't truly listen to you guys when you req something, I always do something like it lmao. Let me know how you liked it thou! Ps. Your English was lovely!

Love <3

Poly Volturi x reader

Turning a corner you let out a long sigh. Currently you were walking around the castle just going around in circles indecisive on who you wanted to spend time with and who you wanted to ask for some.. Things.  You had woken up today to your punishment for simply being a woman. Your period. The reason you were walking around and not just lying in bed like you normally would is because this is your first time having your period in a castle full of vampires. Your period was very irregular so even though it had been a few months since your mates had found you, you’ve never bled around them before. 

You were nervous to see how they would react to it. You thought about asking Jane for some pads but then you remembered that she doesn’t have a period. And she’s probably never had one in her life to begin with. You thought about asking Felix but you felt that he would just make fun of you or tease you. Which was something you didn’t want to deal with right now. If someone teased you about something you couldn’t control you feel like you’d just snap. 

Asking Alec was just a plain no. You knew he’d just stare at you in confusion like what the hell do you mean your bleeding? With Caius you didn’t want to bother him as he was busy with trails right now with the other kings. Plus you’d have a feeling he’d want to paint with it. He has this infatuation with the way dark red blood looks. And you didn’t want him to paint a mural out of your blood for you. Though you're sure it would be gorgeous, he never disappoints you with his paintings.  

The only one that was left was Demtri. Your gentleman out of all your mates. Now you would ask him because you know he wouldn’t tease you or ask some weird request once you got what you needed but that still didn’t stop you from avoiding him also. 

So when you woke up this morning with the red sea between your legs you rushed to the bathroom and took a shower. Covering yourself in scents you’d only use if it was your last day on earth. Spraying yourself in the most expensive perfume that you could find. God do your mates love to spoil you or what? This one bottle of perfume you knew for a fact was a thousand dollars and yet they still said “It was nothing.” For once you were grateful that your room was on the far side of the castle away from all the other vampires including your mates.

You had picked this room purely based on the views that came with it. Your balcony was facing the ocean side of the castle. You could fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks. And you could watch the horizon where the moon and the sun would meet everyday, each rise and set of the moon and sun was always better than the last. That was what you loved about this castle. And that was what you loved about your wing of it. It was your small piece of the fortress and no one could take that away from you. Your love’s made sure of it. 

Taking the silk sheets off your bed you did your best to scrub them clean but of course there was still a stain. You tossed them into the hamper and made a mental note to ask the maid to come get it later for you. You placed new sheets on your bed. You changed your makeshift pad that was made of tissue then you were off to pace the halls to grow some balls.  

You wore your robes that matched all the vamps that were with the volturi, hood up and all in attempts to hide your identity. 

It didn’t work. 

You were convinced that everyone in the castle knew your scent by hard because every vampire that passed, rather they were walking normally or vamping away, they would pause in their tracks and make sure to bow to you. Though it was completely unnecessary, you loved how it made you feel. The power that you hold as just a human brung so much pride to you. The 3 kings and your mates always would tell you to own it and so you did. 

You tried hiding in the shadows when you knew that someone was coming. Pushing yourself against the walls, even turning your whole body like you were just put into time out. You knew you looked like a dumbass but that wasn’t the point nor your problem right now. All you knew was that you didn’t want to face any more people than necessary. 

Finally after what felt like hours you finally made it to the receptionist desk. You were thankful that she was even there. She was always off doing something she had no business doing. You were surprised that she hadn’t gotten herself killed yet. But today you were grateful for that. 

“What can I do to help you?” She asked, putting on a voice that you could tell was supposed to be charming. It was not.

Pulling your hood off she immediately stood from her chair but quickly dropped down to bow. 

“My queen, Is there anything I can do to assist you? Master Caius is out feeding with the others. Would you like me to retrieve him?” She asked, speaking softly. 

Respect was a big thing with the kings if someone showed you any signs of disrespect you never saw or heard from them again. So it was understandable as to why she switched up so fast. 

“No, I was wondering if you had any… You know.. Tampons or pads? Anything honestly.” You said rushing it out. But still trying to keep it low.

“Oh! Don’t you have any of that stuff? They practically treat you like royalty.” She laughed with a roll of her eyes. 

That pissed you off. She’s always had a problem with you and you’ve always kept your mouth shut but today that wasn’t how you were feeling.

“Because I am. Now if you don’t like it or respect it I have no problem having this conversion with the kings. I'm sure they would love to hear about this.” You said in a stern voice, sending her a glare. Her eyes widened, you never threatened anyone, you’ve never had to. It was always done for you if it needed to be done. 

She got up and quickly left, hoping she went to get you something, anything at this point. You could feel that your makeshift pad is not working. 

“Till we hear about what, Amore mio?” You heard behind you making you jump and turn around. When you did you were faced by the three kings themselves. You found yourself sort of stung in place. Your plan was to come get some pads and I don’t know, hide until it all went away? Horrible plan but it worked in your head. This was not a part of your plan.

“Umm nothing I was justt..” You dragged out shifting your eyes between the three. 

Aro was staring at you with his wide curious eyes. Marcus looked at you with soft knowing eyes, he always knew when things were wrong with you. And caius looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Are you hiding something from us?” Caius questioned stepping closer to you. You felt your heart skip a beat. They heard it of course. 

“Caius can you go away?” You asked, covering your face with the palm of your hands.

“Why would I go away? Are you trying to run away?!” Cauis yelled out, making you frown.

“Caius..” Marcus sighed out. There was no doubt that Cauis’s biggest fear was you leaving him and him never being able to find you. It broke your heart that he felt he wasn’t truely loveable.

“I swear you're bipolar.” You said taking your hands off your face just in time to see the receptionist with a brown bag in her hand. When you saw this you grabbed it from her and ran as fast as you could. 

“I wanna be alone right now! No one bother me, pass the message along!” When you turned your head to see if they were behind you they weren't even there. Seeing this you stopped running and caught your breath leaning on a wall. You swear you need to work out more. Or hell even walk more, but what's the point when you can have Felix carry you everywhere? 

Since you were down here on this side of the castle you thought why not stop and get some snacks? So that’s what you did. Big mistake.

Walking into the kitchen you saw Demetri and Felix and immediately turned around hoping that they didn’t see you.

“Bellissima?” Dem said softly, making you turn around.

“Yes?” You said, just as softly.

“Are you alright?” He said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” You said shifting from side to side slightly cringing.

“What’s that sme-” Before Felix could even finish his sentence you dashed out of that kitchen and you ran. You ran straight to your room and you didn’t stop for anything or anybody. Your one mission was to get to your room and stay there. 

Once you got to your room you ran straight to the bathroom and turned the shower on. You didn’t even allow yourself to think about how embarrassingly long it took you to get to this point. You never paid attention to how many people or how many vampires live in this castle until you felt like fresh bait to them. You let yourself relax feeling the hot water hit your back. You allowed it to wash away the mixed emotions you had. 

Once you got out you did your normal hygiene routine and you felt better. You felt ready to rot in a ball for the next week. Opening your bathroom door you stopped in your tracks when you saw all of your mates standing in front of you.

“Hi..?” You said after a minute passed and no words were spoken.

“Why are you acting so strange?” Alec was the first to speak.

“How could I have been acting strange? I haven't even seen you today!” You yelled out holding onto your towel tighter. 

“Yes you have, you’ve seen us both when you were cowering into the ‘shadows’.” Jane said plainly.

“You walked right past us like you didn’t even know who we were!” Alec yelled.

“Don’t yell at me!” You yelled back at him frowning.

“Why not?! If I don’t yell you might walk right past me again!”

“Just cause I walked past you doesn’t mean you can yell at me!”

“I can do whatever-” 

“Where not going to solve this yelling at her!” Dem yelled, cutting Alec off.

“Anyone wanna talk to her and not yell at her?!” He yelled looking at the rest of your mates. 

While he eyes weren’t on you you felt your eyes water and you couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your face. The moment you sniffled you caught everyone's attention.

“You made her cry!” Alec yelled glaring at Demetri.

“I didn’t do a damn thing!” Dem yelled back at Alec.

That started a yelling war between Alec and Dem which only made you cry harder. It was frustrating. 

“Can someone tell me what that smell is!” Felix yelled out in his own frustration. As he had been sniffing everything like a damn dog since you’ve seen him. 

“It’s me! It’s me okay? I’m fucking bleeding I’m on my period okay?! That’s why I’ve been acting weird all day it’s embarrassing and I needed some pads but I didn’t have any and I knew that none of you did and I didn’t wanna ask so I didn’t and you guess kept popping up in places that you didn’t belong and-”

“You smell good.” Felix said, making you stop immediately.

“What?” You questioned.

“Yeah you smell sweeter but at the same time dull. It’s something I’ve never smelt before. It makes my mouth water.” Felix said, staring at you with slightly darker red eyes.

“I agree.” Cauis said, looking you up and down with greedy eyes. 

“She doesn’t smell like that to me, she smells like a softer scent of her normal self.” Dem said now looking at you with a strange expression on his face.

“She smells like something that I can’t explain but it’s pleasant.” Jane said as Alec agreed with her.

“I smell good?” You questioned with your voice cracking slightly.

“You always smell good. Are you seriously telling us that this is the reason that you’ve been avoiding us? That’s a foolish reason.” Cauis said.

“I’ll go gather some stuff you’ll need.” Jane said and before you could say anything of hell even blind she was gone. 

“I’ve read a whole book about menstrual cycles before-” Felix started.

“You can read?” Alec scoffed, dodging the book Felix threw at him in reflex.

“We're gonna take good care of you, I promise.” Felix said as he appeared at your side and settled you on your bed softly. 

“Master Caius, can you lay down? As much as I don’t like to admit it, you're her favorite to lay on when she’s in pain.” He asked, even though Cauis wanted to respond to Felix's statement he kept his mouth shut for your sake.

Cauis pulled you into him as he laid down and you felt yourself relax immediately. While you felt it they could hear it. 

“I’m in my towel this is not a reliable form of protection if you catch my drift?” You said to your mates hinting at the fact that you’d like to get dressed.

“You think I care if you bleed on me Amore mio?” Caius questioned in a dull tone as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Yes I do.” You said as a matter of fact. This sent your mates into a tumble of laughter. While you looked dumbfounded they just shook their heads.

“Sometimes I think you forget what we are.” Dem said looking at you with a soft smirk on his face.

“We eat your kind for breakfast, lunch and dinner and yet you think we are put off by a little drop of blood. That is foolish.” Cauis said, shaking his head pulling you closer to him. 

“Now relax until Jane gets back.” Felix said leaving no room for argument.

With this being said you watched as your mates took their places in your room. Alec sat in a chair that was next to your bed grabbing a book to read. Felix turned on your tv that they had installed and began flipping through the channels. And dem was busy closing all of your curtains so that the room was dark for you. You felt loved by the smallest things that they were doing. Even if it didn’t benefit you, you felt at peace with your loves just in the same place as you. 

As you close your eyes Cauis begins stroking your hair sending a small shiver down your spine due to his cold finger tips. 

“If you just let us change you you wouldn’t have to go through this pointless pain.” Cauis said, making you shake your head.

“I show one sign of pain and you already wanna kill me.” You said snuggling closer into Caius which he welcomed with open arms.

“You’d be reborn into Una versione migliore di te.” He voiced like it was nothing.

“You know that I haven’t been keeping up with my lessons with Marus!” You yelled hitting caius on his side.

“And whose fault is that?” Alec said casually flipping the page to his book he was reading. 

“Not mine actually! Because everytime I try to go to Marcus study, one of you always stops me in my tracks and leads me in a different direction!” You said pointing to each one of your mates. To which none of them could say anything because they knew that it was true.

“See.” You said smiling at the fact that there was no back talk at all. 

Some time passed and you had fallen asleep. When you woke up you felt a weight on your stomach looking down you saw that it was Jane. Her head rested on your stomach. The sun had gone completely down and it was now pitch black in your room but you felt no fear in your heart because you knew that you were safe. 

When you went to shift your legs you were placed with a reminder of why they were here in the first place. Looking down at your previously white towel you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth.

“Fucking hell.” You groaned, rolling your eyes.

“A little free bleeding ain’t never hurt nobody.” Felix said with a smirk that you could just feel in your soul.

“What the fuck.” You said and immediately you heard a few chuckles come from different parts of the room.

#oneshots #x reader #twilight #reader insert #loveswrites #poly twilight #poly volturi xreader #volturi x reader #felix volturi x reader #jane volturi x reader #alec volturi x reader #the volturi #cauis x reader #demitri volturi x reader

[fandomhcs]

dating frank castle would include:

frank castle doesn’t do anything half assed. that includes a relationship. you may have a hell of a time actually getting him into one, but once he is he’ll never waver.

he would struggle between being the punisher and being frank, the man who loves you. though he fully understands that you can that care of yourself, he wants to keep his life as the punisher far away from you. of course its not always possible, but he wants to keep you as safe he can. rest assured, as long as he’s there nothing can touch you. he’d stop anything, give up anything, to keep you safe. 

losing maria and the kids changed him, broke him apart and forced him to scramble to gather any pieces he could. losing you now, after facing all of that loss and all that pain? no way he could handle that. 

and so he’s overprotective, he’s paranoid, he’ll check and double check the locks on your windows and doors until you drag him to bed. while the two of you don’t leave the house together too often, when you do he makes sure to keep you no more than an arm’s length away at all times.

his paranoia is the biggest source of fights in your relationship. he isn’t one for conflict, despite being the punsiher and all. fighting with you is different, and he doesn’t like it when it happens. often times you’ll have it out with each other only for him to go quiet, swallow his pride and take some time to calm down before he can come talk out the problem with you.

but outside of the danger, when things are quiet and peaceful between the two of you there is no sweeter man than frank castle. he’s head over heels for you, it’s easy to see. in his eyes you are everything he never thought he’d have again. sure, he may not have the whole wife, kids, white fence type of life with you. he may never be ready for that, but being with you feels like coming home. it scares him how good it feels to have a place, a person, he can call home again.

movies nights and television marathons are a must. the second you are both home for the night he’ll wrap you up in his arms and drag you to the couch for cuddles. though he isn’t too big on pda, in the privacy of your home he just can’t help himself. 

he lives for the small touches. holding your hand, forehead kisses, fingers grazing your shoulders as he passes by you. its a reminder, every time he feels your skin under his fingertips. a reminder that you are there, with him, safe and sound and alive.

you make him smile. force him to watch stupid comedies or over dramatic soap operas that you both get waaayy too invested in. he makes you try your coffee black, does the dishes for you before you get up in the mornings, keeps you trapped in his arms whenever you try to get up for food. 

he cooks for you sometimes. a lovely surprise that comes out of nowhere. the big bad punisher? popping out with restaurant quality meals all because you’d had a shitty day at work and needed a pick-me-up? that’s art. he doesn’t cook often, but when he does it is magical.

though as far as your cooking, he’ll eat literally anything. you could burn it to coal and he’ll eat it with a smile. he might make fun of you for it, but you’ll see him finish his plate no matter what. he’s a dork like that.

you both whisper your secrets underneath warm sheets with one of his hands tapping a chaotic rhythm on your shoulder and the other gripping your fingers tight. he tells you their names. maria. lisa. frank jr. he tells you of their laughter, their toys, their lives. and he tells you of their deaths, tears spilling from his eyes as he breaks into your arms. your heart breaks with him, but being able to share them with someone who loves him, and by extension loves and respects them too, is such a weight off his shoulders.

they’re ghosts, but not the kind that haunt. the kind that leave your chest aching but also a soft smile on your face. they don’t plague him anymore, he is finally able to think of them without his world going dark. they’ll always be in his heart, he’ll never allow himself to forget them, but you help him realize that he can have happiness once again. 

life is perfectly boring with frank, something he forgot just how much he’d missed. you bring peace into his life, even though he never wanted you to. but he’ll be forever grateful that you did. this man will love you with a passion and an intensity that you’ll find nowhere else.

that is, if you can handle his snoring.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle reader insert #hcs #dwi

[hispg]

Between royalty and vows

Pairings: Prince! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: A forced marriage, a fate set in stone, nothing could change that.

In the world of royalty, there were no choices, only obligations to fulfill. What you didn't expect was to become engaged to a renowned prince, ready to succeed the lineage.

Until that moment, you still had some hope that everything would work out, maybe it wasn't so bad. But it would be a shame if your future husband had a mistress.

Wouldn't it?

Wc:2.6k

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt/ comfort, cheating, arranged marriage, eventual smut, one-sided love, affairs, (I'll put more once things start to progress).

Prologue | 1 |

An:It took me a little longer to post, sorry! I'm in my week of college exams, the finals are approaching. I'm studying a lot, feeling very tired. Thanks for the sweet messages! I didn't expect to receive so much support! I appreciate it!💕💕💕

Chapter 1: Sunset

As soon as the sun rose, Leon was already awake, it's not as if he'd managed to sleep through the night in any case, he was too anxious for that. That morning you would arrive at the castle, and consequently start living here. It was a big step, certainly, but it was more than necessary, especially as the wedding approached.

He himself couldn't believe that he was getting married in the next few days, it had all happened so quickly that he hadn't even had time to think about it properly. Just like that, his life was turned upside down, a pang in his heart every time he thought about it. Every time he thought that he was being forced to marry a stranger, someone he didn't have a shred of affection for.

All these thoughts disappeared once there was a knock on his door, causing him to push down his sheets and start getting ready for the day.

"Your Highness, your father wants to speak to you." The familiar voice of his butler, Ausdret.

Leon lets out a tired sigh, only muttering a small, "I'll be there."

He knows what his father wants to talk to him about, to reinforce his duty once again, to remind him about the dynasty.

There was no escape, and that was all that was on his mind as he got ready. He took longer than necessary, on purpose, just not to leave his bedroom now.

After he'd finally finished, he went to look in the mirror, just to make sure he was properly dressed and polished, after all it was supposed to be a big day. But his eyes stopped wandering over his face, and hovered on a lipstick mark on the collar of his shirt, enough to bring a small smile to his face, eyes sparkling with the memory of his beloved, his only one.

Knowing he would have to hide it, he took one last look before tucking the collar back into place. Making sure no one else could see.

As soon as he left his room, his butler was waiting for him outside, making several attempts at small talk, which Leon wasn't interested in, though. His mind was far away, as if he had never been here in the first place.

Once he arrived in his father's chamber, he was greeted with a big smile, which was not reciprocated by Leon. Only a small nod came from him.

"So everything's settled?" A small whisper, a question that Leon already knew the answer to.

His father proudly replied, "Yes, I've already arranged everything with Vladimir. You and she are getting married in the next few days." His father speaks, looking at the other man in the room, Duke Vladimir, his father's best friend.

However, Leon didn't seem at all excited about the situation, in fact, he seemed rather upset.

"This will be great, we'll finally be able to expand our business." This sentence came from Leon's father, who was more than happy with the pact.

It was a long-standing interest of the king, of course, who wouldn't want to expand their business with one of the richest royal families?

But on the other hand, Leon had other plans. Plans that were not accepted by his father.

"Cheer up, the girl is a beautiful princess, very kind from what I've seen. I'm sure you'll get on well." Vladimir says, trying to console Leon, but frankly, it only seems to have gotten worse.

"How long do we have to stay in this marriage?" Perhaps he was still hoping it would only be for a short time.

"Indefinitely. They will be the source of our success, especially the princess. We need to collaborate with them, just as they collaborate with us." The king says, somewhat obviously, that he won't be breaking the contract any time soon.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll talk to the other servants. We need to organize the wedding invitations." Vladimir says as he leaves, just after bowing to the two members of royalty in the room.

Silence followed, Leon too upset with his father to speak a single word, while the king was daydreaming.

An ambitious king who would slowly make his reign the most prosperous in history, he couldn't ask for more. This would make everything perfect for Leon to take the throne and make the nation of Italy even prouder.

"I don't know how far your greed will go." A plausible complaint coming from Leon, directly confronting his father.

"I only want what's best for you and, consequently, for my nation." They both knew where this conversation was going, but since they were both hard-headed, they would continue anyway.

"What's best for me? You've arranged a marriage with a stranger and you think that's what's best for me?" By now, Leon's voice had changed considerably.

King Leonardo didn't like arguing, least of all with his own son. However, he would never tolerate his disobedience, never.

"And what would be better for you? Marry a paltry lady? Honestly, you need to think bigger." And the king hit the nail on the head, because that's exactly what Leon was getting at.

Ashley did come from an affluent family, but she wasn't as rich as the British family. Which in this case was yours.

"Don't you dare talk about her like that." Leon was once again affronting his father, which would certainly have serious consequences.

"Listen, if you want to continue your affair with this so-called Ashley, go ahead, I won't stop you. Now don't expect me to let you ruin your own future, too."

The two of them looked at each other not very kindly, especially Leon.

It seemed like he was being generous. What's the point? Living a life on the sly with the woman he loved? It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair.

"You still have a lot to learn, my son." The king spoke with a certain heavy heart, and at the same time a jaw-dropping arrogance.

But how could Leon calm down? He didn't even know the woman he was going to marry and, even worse, he couldn't commit to the person he loved, Ashley.

But what irritated him even more was the fact that he knew it was all his father's whim.

But even this marriage wouldn't stop the prince from having a relationship with this woman, even if it meant an extramarital affair. And Leon didn't care if that had consequences, not even for his future wife.

"All I ask is that you don't complicate things. I'm still being kind enough to allow you to have these affairs, whether with Ashley or any other woman." That would even sound gentle if he wasn't talking about extramarital affairs.

"... Alright, Father." Once again, Leon swallowed his pride and let it happen. But then again, it's not as if he could do anything against his father's wishes.

Leon stormed out of his father's chamber, strong, heavy footsteps echoing down the so far empty corridor, and he didn't even look back. His mind was in the purest of shambles, fists clenched and an expression that wasn't the friendliest.

As he walked quickly through the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the commotion outside, expensive carriages arriving in the castle courtyard, making room for butlers to work and remove whatever was inside.

He imagined it was the arrangements for the marriage, since it would take place in the next few weeks. So it wasn't anything that caught his attention for long.

However, as soon as he looked up from the mezzanine, he saw the familiar figure, it was you. Wearing a simple blue dress, delicate gloves that covered up to your forearms, and of course, he couldn't forget your soft features.

As soon as you saw him from the hall, you gave him a discreet smile, making him let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. Even for a brief second, his expression softened, but that didn't make him any less upset by the whole situation.

Queen Sarah spoke to you politely, saying how grateful she was for the courteous company of the princess, who was in fact being awaited by the other residents of the castle, at least most of them.

In fact, the queen felt lonely, since apart from the governesses, she had no other female companion to talk to during the day.

Slowly, Leon descended the grand staircase, stepping onto the red carpet, his steps light and slow, as if he were analyzing what he would do next.

Your eyes met his, and you smiled gently, bowing to him as you should. And he reciprocated, of course.

"Princess." He said, giving a nod to his mother, who politely curtsied to you.

"I'll get your bedroom ready." She says, her voice sweet and calm, as she moves gracefully through the castle.

You felt a shiver run up your spine at the thought that you were about to share a room with him. Since you weren't married yet, you were just going to sleep next to each other, a door that could be opened to connect one room to the other, since couples who hadn't made a commitment weren't supposed to sleep together until they were married.

"You have a beautiful home, prince." You murmur, the sweet smile always on your lips.

He chuckles a little, offering you his arm to hold, "Let me introduce you to the castle itself."

You smile, taking his arm and letting him lead you, obviously he was only doing it out of politeness, but you'd love to spend a little more time with him.

When your covered fingers curled around his arm, you couldn't help but feel the muscles that flexed with every slight movement, without any effort. Just as you couldn't help but notice his eyes every time he looked at you and explained something, the way his voice echoed through the empty corridors.

You walked side by side, your footsteps echoing through the unoccupied hallways, giving off a calm and intimate atmosphere somehow. You noticed the paintings, the properly placed decorations.

Even the curtains matched the carpets, as much as you were used to this sort of thing, it was still breathtaking to see such a sophisticated place.

You felt that despite your enchantment with the prince, you could see his lack of enthusiasm for you, you could see that it sounded more like a duty than anything else.

What did you expect? That it would be a fairy tale? In this life you were leading, the heart didn't always follow the rules of fairy tales.

"Let me take you to the courtyard, it's a nice day." You notice the sigh at the end of the sentence, as well as the distance he kept.

Even with all his explanations, all the talk about royal life, homework, the explanations for every painting in the corridor, you didn't pay much attention. Your attention was focused completely on him, perhaps because you were hoping for a hint of feeling, whatever that was.

Too bad you wouldn't find it even if you looked hard enough.

As soon as you left the large building, you were presented with a landscape that looked more like a hand-painted picture.

The courtyard was perfect, full of roses and other types of flowers, a wooded area, the grass all at the same length, without a single flaw. Meticulously cut bushes, flowers that adorned the greenery and gave it extra life, it seemed magical.

The afternoon sun shone down on the whole place, bringing everything to life. The birds humming and bathing in the water fountain, nature stretching as far as the eye could see.

"I hope you are pleased, princess." Leon says, his calm, velvety voice immediately making you look at him.

"Certainly, it's very well appreciated." With a sweet, polite smile you answered him, approaching the fountain and sitting down on one of the edges.

And he repeated the gesture, sitting down next to you.

Just as you were about to engage him in conversation, a strong wind whipped against you, causing your hair to tangle, the softly combed strands to fall into your face, undoing a good few minutes' work in an instant.

Then you felt a warm, robust hand on your cheek, brushing the strands behind your ear.

A gesture that was intimate, no doubt about it, and that was able to make you blush slightly as soon as you felt his hand graze your cheek, but which he pulled away.

"Thank you." You say with a gentle, shy smile, tidying up a few more of the strands that were still getting messy.

Despite his smile, you could see the piercing blue gaze, without much emotion. His gaze, which seemed to be as cold as ice, was still so attractive.

"My pleasure, princess." The warm tone didn't change his placid expression, not even if he tried very hard.

As the two of you stood in silence, all you could hear was the gentle breeze and the birds singing, everything seemed so peaceful.

Except for the restlessness of your heart, which stubbornly pounded every time he looked at you. And you mentally plagued yourself every time this happened.

Why was he doing that? Out of courtesy? Politeness? Decorum? Or were you thinking too much? Creating too many expectations?

And so you remained, gazing at the horizon and watching the sun slowly set, watching the magic of nature while your minds were in a whirl.

Your hand on the edge of the fountain, as well as his, fingers almost grazing each other, and you were tempted to make a move.

However, it would have been inappropriate for a lady, to say the least. Especially knowing that the chances of him taking your hand away were high.

So you'd better make the most of what you had.

As the garden began to darken a little and the sunlight slowly faded, Leon stood and looked around, seeing that it was already getting dark.

You've spent the whole day walking around the castle, so time has passed too quickly. At least for you.

"We should go, dinner should be ready by now." He was the first to break the silence, once again offering his arm and his company to take you to the dining area.

And there you went again, walking slowly through the courtyard back into the castle.

However, halfway there Leon stopped, picking up a red rose that had fallen to the ground. As soon as he knelt down to pick it up, he turned to you and planted a soft kiss on the back of your hand, his warm lips brushing against your gloved hand. It sent shivers through your body.

"Red looks good on you." He murmurs, placing the flower in your hair, very gently so as not to mess it up.

You made a little chuckle, the blush clear on your cheeks. Was he doing it out of politeness? Or just to keep up appearances?

It would have been a beautiful, subtle, gentle and even romantic gesture. That's if you hadn't noticed the lipstick staining the collar of his shirt.

Oh oh, poor you.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 leon #resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #resident evil #re leon

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I ask why you dislike Malleus so much?

[My TWST character tier list is here.]

[For context on why I dislike Malleus: here and here!]

Many of the reasons previously cited above are still applicable presently (though some points may be outdated since those posts were written before book 7). In this post, I will mostly be focusing on why my thoughts on Malleus have not changed despite the new added content of book 7.

I ramble on for a bit, so I put my thoughts below the cut! Ah—but before you read, please be aware that these are my opinions and not meant to be disparaging to any Malleus likers out there.

Me disliking him should not take away any of your joy!! Go out there and love him for me ^^

A lot of the things happening in book 7 were a long time coming, so really I felt as though Malleus finally “losing it” was affirming of all the red flags from before. Since day 1, his loneliness, aloofness, and awkwardness around his peers were key traits of his. What book 7 does is it magnifies the darkest aspects of his character.

We’ve seen several examples when Malleus has fits of rage and his power flares out of control or he at least threatens it. In Glorious Masquerade, he becomes enraged at the realization that the invitation he received was a false one. In A Firelit Sky, he insinuates that he would be upset if people questioned his presence for the trip. He crushes Lilia’s phone in his own Dorm Uniform vignettes, destroying a friend’s belonging because he was upset about not being invited to an occasion. In book 7, we see a flashback of Malleus freezing the whole castle as a child because his grandmother, overtaken by her duties, could no longer dine with him as promised. Malleus’s temper has been a persistent issue since childhood.

We’ve also seen him act callously toward his classmates and misuse magic to force his will upon them. Remember him stopping time during Endless Halloween Night? How he wanted some ghosts to enjoy themselves instead of missing out on being with everyone for the holiday? Now he’s stopping time in book 7 and keeping everyone in their happy dreams forever. Remember how (in his Dorm Uniform vignettes) Malleus thought it would be easier to make the other dorm leaders come to him instead of him coming to them for their meeting? So then he disregards their autonomy and casts magic that’s normally cast on objects on living beings (something which the other dorm leaders take offense to, as it is dehumanizing). He fails to consider their perspective when he returns to Diasomnia (he basically goes, “well, I wouldn’t have been mad if they cast that spell on me!”). Malleus learns nothing from the experience despite Lilia trying to tell him over and over to be more considerate of others and how different they are from him. Now we have Malleus relating his peers to a virtual pet that he never ever wants to leave him.

Malleus can be stubborn and arrogant. He has a very single-minded way of thinking and often does not consider others’ feelings before he makes the decision for them. Malleus can be insecure. He doesn’t even fully realize he is lonely until Yuu suggests it in book 7, but he’s capable of acting on his bouts of intense emotion. He has always had these flaws, and now they are being brought out in full; we’re being forced to confront OB Malleus and all the complicated, twisting feelings of abandonment that come with him.

Let’s make one thing very clear: I don’t take issue with the overblot boys in general; they are meant to be morally grey characters that act in dubious ways. It would be insincere for me to claim “I dislike Malleus because he did bad things!” News flash, many TWST characters have done bad things or at least questionable things that would give you pause. What separates Malleus from the others and makes him egregious enough to earn significant ire from me is the particular actions he takes (which triggers a personal disdain of mine).

Malleus consistently exerts a scary amount of control over others. This is not a new idea; Riddle and Vil are also notorious for being oppressive or controlling, and I’ll be the first to admit that. (You’ll note that those two are low on my tier list too.) The thing is, Riddle and Vil were very overt and open about their demands for obedience. Malleus can be too, but it’s so insidious how he acts within the dreams. He ignores people’s autonomy, gaslights others, and, again, acts like he knows what’s best for them 💀 Other characters have done these things too, but never to the same scale or by exerting this much power. Malleus then resorts to violence when his lies don’t work, even though he’s fully aware of the power disparity between him and his peers. It feels particularly scummy to me because of how Malleus frames his selfish actions and feelings (his wish for Lilia to not leave) as selfless (for the benefit of his peers) and something everyone else would want in order to justify it to himself 💦 I know he is in (or bordering on) overblot so he wasn’t thinking rationally at that point, plus the fact that many examples I listed come from events or vignettes which may not be canon to the main story timeline. Still, there is a concerning pattern of behavior with Malleus misusing his powers or not being considerate of others and failing to grow from those mistakes. You can only go “oopsie” so many times before you harm someone by accident. I expect people to learn their lesson by then and adopt some proper restraint. He keeps claiming his intentions are good as if that’s supposed to dismiss any harm that results from his actions??? No, his actions still harmed people and he has to deal with the consequences of them, not have them hand-waved away or excused. The behavior I’m witnessing is reminiscent of like… having a toxic friend that is constantly told “hey, what you’re doing/saying makes me feel uncomfortable; do you think you could dial it back?” and the friend tells you they’ll try but then never actually changes their behavior or defends their behavior with “I didn’t mean to, so therefore I did not actually harm anyone”.

You can give me a backstory, but a backstory only goes so far as explaining why he is the way he is; it does not excuse him at all. You can say “He’s a fairy! He’s sheltered!” until the cows come home, but when he relies on magic to quickly fix the problems he caused instead of stopping to genuinely reflect on why people are mad at him, it’s hard for me to sympathize. Because of his immense power and status, the only person that can reasonably hold Malleus accountable is himself, and he has not demonstrated to me that he can do that.

Book 7 is essentially the payoff for allllll the tropes and traits I never liked to begin with coming into fruition. That’s why Malleus has stayed where he is in my TWST character ranking. I did not expect the writing, no matter how good or tear-jerking, to change that. Until Malleus shows that he’s fully apologetic, recognizes the error of his ways, and consciously tries to connect with others and understand their perspectives, he’s staying squarely where he is.

Am I saying a character with flaws is a bad thing? No, absolutely not! Flaws are what make a character interesting, I’m not faulting Malleus or any other characters for having them. Am I saying that he is poorly written? No, I think Malleus is actually quite a complex character and he’s been really fascinating to follow. I love the emotional complexity of book 7–and it was so clever how the devs related his virtual pet to wishing for happily ever afters for people in his real life. This magnitude of danger is also just about what I expect of book 7 and the themes of togetherness that TWST was angling for from the start. But the fact remains unchanged that I perceive his attitude as irritating at best and reprehensible at worst.

My distaste for Malleus is based entirely on my own views and life experiences. The specific flaws Malleus has and how he acts because of them don’t sit well with me and the kinds of things I enjoy in fiction. It’s not anything deeper than that!

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #book 7 spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question #Riddle Rosehearts #Vil Schoenheit #Lilia Vanrouge #a firelit sky spoilers #glorious masquerade spoilers #malleus dorm uniform vignette spoilers #endless halloween night spoilers #Yuu

[pholla-jm]

I feel like Sukuna is the type to have a daughter with her mom's angelic looks and her father's power and personality haha. Can I ask for some cute scenarios of them please? 🙏

Hello! This was such a cute idea! I couldn't think of anything good, but I came up with some stuff. However, if I do come up with more, I'll definitely tag you!

Like Daughter, Like Father

IMAGINE: LIKE DAUGHTER, LIKE FATHER GENRE: FLUFF cw: not proof read. mention of blood and killing *****************

Everyone thinks that Sukuna would have a son, and spend most of his time with his son. 

However, the universe decided to bless him with a daughter instead. 

And she definitely took her mom’s looks. An exact copy and paste. 

Like an angel sent straight down to heaven. If you took one look at her, she looked so innocent and peaceful. 

However, anyone that spent time with her knew that she was just like her daddy. 

In fact, you knew that she was going to be such a daddy’s girl when she said her first word. Well, more like shouted. 

Sukuna was about to leave to walk around another village, leaving you and your daughter at the castle. 

You could tell that she was getting upset by her wiggling movements and grabby hands towards her father. However, that didn’t really stop Sukuna. What came out of your daughter's mouth next definitely made him stop. 

“Daddy!” She shouts and Sukuna stops. His body was slightly tense, like he was processing what he just heard. 

His little girl, shouting his name. Almost like she was beckoning him over. His brain was telling him that no one tells him what to do. But his heart and body was telling him something different. He couldn’t just walk away from his child. 

He turns around, a bit surprised with the look on her face. 

Her eyebrows were furrowed, lips turned into a pout and she was glaring at him. 

“Awe, you said your first words.” You coo at her. “Daddy.” She says again, but more stern. “Ooh, sounds like someone is mad.” You start to tease. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes and walks back over to you and his daughter. He takes her from you, her body being enveloped in his arms. Any child would probably be scared to be held by him. But she wanted it. She wanted to stick right by his side. 

“Daddy.” She says again. “Tch, what do you want, brat?” 

Her glare just hardens and you laugh.

“Oh, this is too good. Looks like you’re spending the day with her.” 

You were amused with how much your daughter is like Sukuna. She always sported a serious look on her face and she glared at every single person that she didn’t know. Sure, she took your looks. But she stole his whole personality. 

“Huh?” Sukuna looks at you a bit shocked as you start to leave the room. 

“Make sure to bring her back alive.” Your daughter wasn’t even paying attention to you as you left. All of her attention is on her daddy, already planning on how to make his life harder. 

***********

“Where is that brat?” Sukuna mumbles as he walks through the hallways. His steps were a bit faster than usual, as he looked for his daughter. She for some reason thought it was a good idea to play hide n seek even though Sukuna said no. 

However, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Now Sukuna is slightly stressed out as he looks for the tiny half human/curse. 

“If you don’t come out, your mother is going to kill me.” 

It was silent for a couple of minutes, and then he heard the teeny tiny patter of feet coming towards him. 

He turns around, looking down at his daughter. 

His eyes widened seeing that she was covered in red. His brain immediately goes to the worst. He walks up to her, bending down to her level. 

“Kill?” She repeats. “Yes. Kill. Something that your mother is going to do if you did something bad.” He mumbles as he inspects her for any cuts or wounds.

He was relieved seeing that it wasn’t her blood. His thumb smudges at one of the red stains, bringing it to his mouth. “Cranberries?” 

“Cwanbewies.” She repeats with a large smile on her face. 

Sukuna lets out a sigh of relief. “Where did you even get cranberries?” 

“Kitchen.” Sukana nods his head. “Wait, how did you get in there? What about the servants?” 

She’s silent for a moment, like she's thinking about her answer. “Kill.” She says.

“You kill?” He asks and she nods her head with a proud look on her face. 

She didn’t exactly know how to communicate that the servant got in the way of her cranberries. She just simply got rid of the obstacle. 

Sukuna looks down and sees that there is indeed blood staining the bottom of her yukuta. Sukuna smiles, proud of her actions. 

Then, you popped into his head. You were the exact opposite of these two. And he already knows that you would not be happy. 

“Okay, don’t tell mom.” “Tell mom?” “No.” “I tell mom.” “I just said no.” “Mom!” “Shut it!” “No, you.” 

Sukuna covers her mouth, his hand covering most of her face. He stands up, picking her up in the process. He looks around, looking for any sign of you. 

He was relieved that you didn’t hear what was going on. 

“Listen. You don’t say a word, and I’ll get you your favorite chocolate.”  Her eyes lit up and she nodded her head. “Alright, good. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #oneshot #sukuna fluff #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff